


A Trick of the Light

by A_Farnese



Series: Penumbra [12]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-01
Updated: 2015-03-06
Packaged: 2018-03-04 18:34:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 36,188
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3081473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/A_Farnese/pseuds/A_Farnese
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A not-so-chance encounter ends with Merlin being accused of a crime he didn't commit, leaving it to Arthur to unravel the tangled web of truth and lies.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: 'Merlin' and its characters are not mine. No money is being made from this.

“I love this land. No man can claim otherwise.”

Pynell sipped his wine as he flicked the curtain aside to watch the comings and goings below. Farmers, merchants, ladies’ maids, and all sorts were on their ways to and from the market, bearing all kinds of goods- breads and cheeses and roasted meat, or cloth and fine silks. Their chatter floated up to him, along with the music of a pair of dueling minstrels- one plucking away at a fine lute, his voice soaring above the din while the other pounded out a complicated rhythm on a bodhran.  Summer was always good to this city. “Camelot is strong. Her enemies hesitate to cross her for fear of her wrath. The Kingdom is just, and every man, woman, and, child knows their place.”

“Every man, woman, and child _knew_ their place,” a voice said from the shadows.

Pynell snorted. “You’re right.” He tossed the dregs of his wine out the window and closed the curtain, drenching the room in darkness again. “There was order once, in the days of King Uther. Now serving girls play at being queen, and a sorcerer…” He made a face, like he had tasted something rotten. “A sorcerer- a bastard, peasant boy of a sorcerer- whispers poison into the King’s ear, and no one says anything against him. The new king is certainly not his father’s son.”

He’d had such hope for the future when Arthur was a boy. A golden-haired moppet who was desperate to please his father, he had done everything he could to win the old king’s approval. The reports had been dazzling when Arthur was given his first command- every mission accomplished without a flaw, every order given without hesitation. Many had wondered, at first, if the Prince’s accomplishments were real, or if they were the result of obsequious tongues trying to gain royal favor. In time, though, the truth became clear. Arthur was becoming the same leader his father had been, inspiring his men to follow even when hope seemed lost, snatching victory out of the air where other men would have failed.

_‘Where did we go wrong?’_

“What would you have me do about it?”  Pynell saw only a glint in the other man’s eyes. He held himself with such quiet and stillness that it was easy to overlook him. But there was something in his eyes, something less than human that made being in a room with him uncomfortable, like stumbling into a room with a sleeping, starving wolf. “My kind is no longer welcomed in Camelot. There was a time when I would have been welcomed with open arms,” he said, his mellow voice edged with gravel.

“Change is not always for the best,” Pynell agreed. “And I think you already know what I want from you. Don’t pretend you haven’t already devised half a dozen plans. If you hadn’t, then why am I spending so much on this venture?”

“Because there is no one quite like me, My Lord.” The man stepped away from the wall he leaned against, letting a little light shine of the sharp planes of his face. “Any man can wield a blade or fire a crossbow. It takes another sort of man altogether to wield a weapon with patience so the attack is never expected, never seen. And when the deed is done, there must be nothing leading back to him. Or to the one who hired him.”

“Indeed. The last man failed utterly. He attacked too soon. He missed, then he panicked and tried to flee. They executed him for it.” Pynell slammed his wine cup down on the table, rattling the dishes. He let out a long breath to calm himself.

That venture had been costly, too, both in coin and in favors. The man had been from far away Araby, a land Pynell had never heard of before and hoped never to hear of again. ‘These men, these assassins from the desert, they know much about magic. They know how to defeat those who use magic. They have been trained for it. And what’s more, their tongues are cut out to ensure their silence. He will not fail you.” The agents had made so many assurances, so many promises. None of them had come true.

Well, one of them had. The assassin hadn’t been able to confess who hired him.

“I will not repeat his mistakes.”

“No,” Pynell turned back to the other, “I should hope not. I have been assured of your skills. And your discretion.”  

The witchfinder regarded Pynell with cold eyes. His only movement was the rise and fall of his shoulders as he breathed. “I have been fighting sorcery across the Five Kingdoms these past twenty-five years, My Lord. I served the Amatan king for most of ten years until his death last winter, at the hands of this… Merlin.”

“And yet you escaped the carnage at Blackheath?”

“Not by choice. The Sarrum sent me abroad, to see to his business elsewhere. Had I been at his side, My Lord, last winter’s battle would have ended differently.” The witchfinder’s eyes followed Pynell as he stalked back and forth, a viper watching the dog that hunted it.

“You must forgive me, witchfinder, if I do not weep for your former master. I care as little for sorcery as he did, and yet I did not want him to rule my kingdom.” Pynell poured a new cup of wine for himself, and another for his companion. He held it out at arm’s length.

The witchfinder reached for the cup, his spidery fingers grasping it lightly as though he expected it to bite him. “I understand, My Lord. You are in line for the throne, after all. In matters of succession, no heir- no matter how remote- wants a foreign interloper to disturb the natural order. That is not what you want of me, I assume, to… upset the natural order?”

“No,” Pynell said quickly. If even a breath of treason reached Arthur’s ears, his own head would end up on a spike. The man had his father’s temper, after all. “No. I may disagree with Arthur, but he is the king. What I want is an end to this business with the sorcerer. By whatever means possible. A quick knife in the dark, a slow destruction of his reputation. However you do it, do it completely. Your former master tried and failed. The sorcerer burned, but did not die. I want no such mistakes this time. His destruction must be complete.”

“Yes, My Lord. You may trust me to complete the task, no matter how long it takes.” He swirled the wine around in his cup, but did not drink. “There is one small matter.”

“And that is?”

“Arthur’s squire. The boy, Gareth. He was once a hostage to the Sarrum. He knows my face.”

Pynell waved away the witchfinder’s concerns. “Then keep out of the boy’s sight, or dispose of him if you cannot. The little prince may be his father’s heir, but Hywel has another son, a younger one. Raised outside of Arthur’s court, he may be more… amenable to our concerns. When dealing with matters of state, one must always be looking toward the future.”

“Indeed, My Lord.” The witchfinder made to go, to disappear into the shadows and retreat down the servants’ passage in the antechamber. Pynell stopped him before he could. “Is there anything else?”

“To maintain trust, witchfinder, to.. clarify our relationship and set us on proper terms, I will need your name. You know who I am. If you are captured and put to torture, you may reveal who hired you. It is only fair that I know your name.”

The witchfinder looked back at him, his expression unfathomable. “‘Tis difficult to threaten me and mine, My Lord. I am but a stray dog, with no family awaiting my return. My father trained me in the days of the Purge, but he has been dead these past ten years. I come from across the water, from Brittany. If I still have a family there, I do not know them, nor would they know me. If you must have a name, call me Jehan.”

Pynell watched Jehan for a while, daring himself not to blink, though the witchfinder’s eyes were as cold and as lifeless as any serpent’s. “Well, then, Jehan. I’ll leave you to your business. I will want to know of your progress, of course, but quietly. The castle has eyes, and as you have said, your kind is now unwelcome at the court of Camelot.”

“And I know what sort of end I will face if I fail, My Lord.”

Pynell nodded. “Go, then. Do your work.”

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

There were children laughing.

The merry sound echoed down the hall, bright as the summer sun that filtered through the gallery windows above. Arthur followed the trail of sound until he found a slender figure dressed in rich, red velvet. Guinevere leaned against the railing, watching whatever tableau played out below. Arthur wrapped his arms around her waist and buried his nose in her hair, reveling in the scent of lavender and her.

She leaned against him, one soft hand curving around his neck, taking pleasure in the quiet of the moment. “It’s funny,” Guinevere whispered after a while. “Everyone thought that after magic was legal again, there would be fire raining down from the skies and all sorts of horrid fates befalling us. But instead of all that, we got butterflies.”

“Butterflies?”

“Yes. Butterflies.” Guinevere smiled and gestured to the bottom of the stairs where the children’s laughter had bubbled up from. Two girls played there- servants’ children, perhaps seven years old. They were chasing butterflies painted such a brilliant blue it hardly seemed natural.

And with good reason.  Merlin perched on the second step, his hands cupped in front of him, giving the girls an elfin smile as they skipped back to him when the butterflies shimmered into nothing. Their cheerful pleas rose up to the royal couple, though Merlin’s replies were too soft to follow. He gave in, though, flinging his hands open in an explosion of blue butterflies.

Arthur grinned at the girls’ delighted squeals as they ran about, jumping up to catch the butterflies that flitted just outside their reach.

“I wish everyone could see that side of magic. Perhaps people would fear it less if they saw this,” Guinevere said.

“Maybe,” Arthur shrugged and pulled Guinevere closer. “Or maybe they’ve seen too much of the kind of magic Morgana has to offer to ever really trust it again.”

“Perhaps.” Guinevere sighed. Her hand dropped from his neck to rest on his arm at her waist. “I wish you were wrong, though, if only for Merlin’s sake. He seems so far away from us, sometimes, like he’s fading away. Like one day he’ll walk out into the twilight and never return.”

“You make him sound like a character in one of Gaius’s nursery stories,” Arthur said as he kissed her on the cheek. “Merlin would never leave us. Not forever. If he tried, we’d end up finding him in a bog somewhere, all covered in mud. We’d have to bring him back and dunk him in a horse trough a dozen times to get him clean again.” He got the laugh he wanted, joining in with his own a moment later.

Merlin looked up at them, squinting against the sunlight until he realized who it was. Though several weeks had passed since his vision had begun to return, it still wasn’t as clear as it had been before. Gaius assured them all it would just be a matter of time, that they just needed to be patient. Arthur knew Merlin was tired of being patient.

“That’s all for now,” he told the girls, brushing away their disappointed pleas. “The butterflies have to go home sometime, and you have lessons to attend. Go on now.” He waved them off, waiting until they were out of sight before brushing himself off and jogging up the stairs to meet Arthur and Guinevere. “Did you want something?”

“No.” Arthur shook his head and took a moment to study the sorcerer. The calm summer had been good to Merlin, giving him the time and space to rest and recover. The gauntness had left his face, along with most of the hollow-eyed despair that had haunted him since winter, though, Arthur knew it hadn’t left him completely. He’d seen the memories of Blackheath surfacing in his eyes to try to drag him back into the depths. In spite of that, the bright smile had found its way back onto Merlin’s face.

“I thought you were going out into the woods for whatever it is you do out in the woods when you go… out in the woods.” Arthur waved a hand vaguely westward.

Merlin stared at him a moment, blinked, then looked at Guinevere. “It’s sometimes hard to believe that battle plans and rulings come from that mouth, isn’t it?”

Arthur scowled and batted at Merlin’s head.

The sorcerer dodged, laughing. Guinevere hid her own smile behind a hand. “I’ll be leaving at dusk,” Merlin said. “It’ll be a good night for travel, with the moon being near to full. Good weather, too, and quiet.”

When Merlin had first come to Arthur about his plans for Lughnasadh, Arthur had tried to insist on sending one of the knights along but Merlin had refused. Though they were now free to come and go and live as they saw fit, the Druids were still skittish around the knights of Camelot. _“I can’t just bring someone into their camp that many of the Druids still view as an enemy. Not on a night like this. Lughnasadh is sacred. It’d be like inviting King Hywel to your wedding- an ally, but not someone you want around you at a feast.”_ So in this, Merlin got his way. Despite his imperfect eyesight and the dismal view much of the populace still had of him, Merlin would be traveling alone.

Though, Arthur had to admit, his plan to travel by night was sound enough. Few people would be out to harass him, and after walking in darkness for half a year, Merlin was certainly capable of navigating a moonlit forest.

“Given that I’m not interested in having this argument again, I’m going to let you win this one,” Arthur said. Merlin beamed. “When are you coming back, then?”

“Twilight, two days from now. Unless you can’t bear the thought of my being gone that long.”

“I think I’ll be quite all right without your hovering, thank you very much.” Arthur offered Guinevere his arm, and they turned to go back to the great hall. Merlin fell into step a pace behind them. They walked in silence for a while, letting the bustling servants, nobles, and other palace officials pass them by, nodding to acknowledge their bows and curtseys and otherwise not bothering to keep anyone from whatever task they were in the midst of. If any of the nobles had some business to take to the King, they didn’t bother with it in the hallway. It wouldn’t do, in such an informal setting. Not with servants milling about. Or with Merlin present.

Arthur didn’t miss the sidelong glances they directed at the sorcerer, and while he wasn’t about to stop and look back he was certain Merlin hadn’t missed them, either. Though magic had been legal since the first days of spring, few magic users had poked their heads out of the security of the silence and invisibility they’d built around themselves since The Purge. But then, Arthur had to admit, old habits died slowly. After a generation of persecution, it shouldn’t come as a surprise that magic users- no matter what sorts of magic they practiced- would be slow in coming around to the notion that they were truly free.

The people weren’t all keen on the idea, either, though Arthur had heard of only a few instances where a sorcerer- or a suspected sorcerer- had been attacked. They hadn’t been killed, but by all accounts the victims promptly disappeared. Fled to a friendlier climate.

“Sire.” Leon’s voice dragged Arthur’s wandering thoughts back to the present. The blond knight’s expression was even, betraying nothing of his thoughts. He held a rolled parchment loosely in one hand.

“Leon.” Arthur nodded at him, directing him into the mostly empty Great Hall. “Leave us, please,” he announced to the room, waiting until the stragglers had left and the doors had closed behind them before dropping into his chair at the head of the table. Guinevere took her place more gracefully, as did Leon. Merlin resumed his familiar role as a servant, pouring whatever drink it was from the pitcher on the table. Arthur hoped it was wine. Whatever Leon’s news was, it was bad enough to keep the normally good-humoured knight’s expression shuttered.

It was water in the pitcher. Arthur scrunched his nose at it and set the cup down. “Well?”

Leon unrolled the parchment and pressed it as flat as it would go. The edges still curled up, but it was legible. “We received word from the border with Rheged. It seems King Urien has sent a sizeable force into the mountains to test our defenses there. There have been a number of minor skirmishes in the past couple of weeks- nothing that would normally be of concern, except-”

“This is the same course of action the Sarrum took last year, before he and Morgana took Blackheath.”  Arthur skimmed over the report and slid it over to Guinevere. “Have there been reports of anything… strange?” He glanced up at Merlin before looking back to Leon. Merlin’s last vision hadn’t happened so long ago that it had faded in Arthur’s memory.

“You mean magical?” Leon shook his head. “None so far. The attacks have been what you’d expect from armed men.  There are no reports of Morgana or any of her men. So far.”

Arthur tapped a finger on the table, his gaze unfocused as he considered the possibilities. After Blackheath, Leon had predicted that the neighboring kings would be unlikely to attack, seeing as how forces from Camelot had retaken two major fortresses- Blackheath and Tintagel- within the same few weeks in the middle of winter. Thus far, his prediction had come true; none of the other kingdoms had made noises about testing Camelot’s defenses, and even Morgana had disappeared without a trace. Arthur shook his head and scowled. Such peace never lasted for long. “Merlin?”

“Hm?” It looked like Arthur had shaken the sorcerer out of his own wandering thoughts.

“Have you been able to find Morgana?”

“By scrying?” Merlin’s expression darkened. “No. And not for lack of trying. Though, scrying’s more of an art than a science, and it’s not a skill I’m particularly good at.” He flushed slightly, embarrassed, as though he were admitting that he didn’t know how to do something simple. Arthur wasn’t sure why it embarrassed Merlin. To him, everything to do with magic was a complete mystery.

“Keep trying, then,” Arthur said. “She can’t have disappeared completely. Even if she were dead, I’m sure we’d have heard something about it from someone. As for the border,” he turned to Leon, “We’ll send scouts to find out their numbers and their strengths, and soldiers to reinforce the mountain garrisons.” His fingers drifted over the parchment, sketching out an imaginary map of Camelot’s border with Rheged. “I suppose it’s fortunate that the Marcher Lords are here now. We can send the first of the men on with them when they depart in a few days, and it won’t look abnormal. The rest can follow on when they’re supplied. I’d like to say that Urien wouldn’t try to launch a major offensive with autumn on the horizon, but after Morgana’s interference last winter we can’t rule anything out.”

Leon’s gaze flicked over Arthur’s shoulder to Merlin before he looked back at the king. “No, we can’t. I’ll begin the preparations, then.”

“Good. Bring me the reports before anyone leaves for the east. If the Marcher Lords give you any trouble, send them to me, and if anything on the border changes- anything at all- tell me about it at once, even if it’s in the dead of night.” Arthur glanced at Merlin and gave Leon a steady look. “We can’t afford another Blackheath.”

“Yes, sire. Though I doubt Lord Cador and the others will have any complaints about having more men to escort them home. I overheard him mentioning how small his retinue was, so he at least won’t have anything to complain about.” A wry smile pulled at Leon’s lips before he excused himself and left.

Arthur glanced over the parchment again, re-reading the report as though he’d be able to find new information in the old words. He looked up at Merlin.

“I don’t know anything more than you do,” Merlin said.

“You have visions of the future.”

“I have riddles of the future, and nothing new in the past month. I’ve told you before that they’re not terribly useful.” Merlin blinked away a fleeting expression of… regret? Arthur wasn’t sure what it was, it was there and gone again so quickly.

“Well. I don’t suppose we’re going to accomplish anything more standing around in here. You,” he waved Merlin off, “go off and do whatever it is that you’re going to do. We have audiences to attend to. With the Minister of Trade and the Weavers’ Guild. I’m sure it’s going to be thrilling.” Arthur took Guinevere’s hand.

“Don’t worry. I’ll talk you through the proceedings.” She smiled, and while she intended it as a joke, it wouldn’t be terribly far from the truth. Guinevere might have a servant’s grasp of economics, but it was a damn sight better than Arthur’s, who had been raised to wage war on the battlefield, not across tables. After years of helping manage Morgana’s household and its expenses, Guinevere had learned enough to give Camelot’s steward a few lessons in bargaining.

“I’ll count on you to keep them in line, then,” Arthur said, and kissed her on the cheek. “And you, Merlin, try not to run into any trees or fall off a cliff. Now go on. Have a happy… whatever. We’ll see you in two days.”

Merlin rolled his eyes at Arthur, and Guinevere reached out to clasp the sorcerer’s hand. “Have a Happy Lughnasadh celebration. Now we have to go, or we’re going to be late.” She elbowed Arthur in the ribs. Again. It was her favorite pastime. He opened the door, and a guard standing outside pulled it the rest of the way open.

“Thank you, Gwen,” Merlin said. “I’ll see you both in a couple of days. I’ll try to stay away from cliffs.”

“See that you do,” Arthur said over his shoulder before the door closed behind him, keeping the smile pasted to his face until they’d gone several paces down the hallway.

“You’re worried about him, aren’t you?” Guinevere asked under breath as she nodded to a pair of servants who had paused to make their courtesies to the royal couple.

Arthur took a breath to protest, then thought better of it. She was too good at telling when he was fibbing to make it worth his while to try. “A little. Maybe more than that,” he finally replied, his voice as soft as hers had been. “It’s just that the last time he went away to observe a holy day was at Yuletide last winter. He might pretend otherwise, but he’s still not fully recovered from what happened.”

“What, do you think something like that might happen again? That perhaps bandits or villagers somewhere might try to hurt him?”

“I don’t know. I’m probably just paranoid.” Arthur sighed and gave her a tight smile.

“Well, after everything that’s happened in the past year, I think we’ve earned the right to to be a little paranoid.” Guinevere tried to return his wan smile, but too much worry shone in her eyes for that to happen. She brought them to a halt in a patch of sunlight, turning about to stand face to face with him. “We can’t afford to let ourselves get so worked up over everything. If Merlin’s visions are right, and if there’s some great threat waiting for us, we need to be as strong as we can if we’re to face it. We can’t assume the worst until it actually happens.”

She looked so sure of herself, but Arthur still saw her fear in the tightness around her eyes. Guinevere’s strong words weren’t meant for his ears alone. She was trying to convince herself, too. He laid a feather-light kiss on her brow. “You’re right, of course. When did you grow so wise?”

Some of her cares eased away. He saw it in the brightening of her eyes. “During all those years when I had to put up with the arrogant, spoiled brat that you were once upon a time. Now let’s go. The kingdom’s business won’t wait forever.”

 


	3. Chapter 3

“Merlin!”

“Dammit, Gwaine,” Merlin muttered under his breath as he yanked on Altair’s reins to bring the horse about. The gelding snorted and reared up for a moment, irritated by the unexpected command. “I told you already. You can’t come with me.” In the quiet forest evening, Merlin hardly needed to raise his voice for the knight, no, _knights_ \- there were two of them, after all- to hear him. “It’s not that I don’t want your company, but the Druids won’t tolerate your being there. I’ve told you that.”

“Peace, Merlin.” Gwaine held up a hand as he urged his horse the rest of the way up the rise. “I’m not a complete idiot. I know when I’m not wanted, and I can’t imagine the Druids would ever want me around. That doesn’t mean we can’t go with you part of the way. Did you really imagine we’d just let you go stumbling around in the woods at night all alone?”

Merlin raised an eyebrow at Gwaine and shot Lancelot an exasperated look. “I’ve been wandering the woods at night all alone for most of my life. I’ve gotten rather good at it. I don’t really need the help.”

“It’s not a matter of your needing help. It’s a matter of safety. You know Arthur doesn’t like any of his men to go dangerous places alone,” Lancelot said.

“The forest is hardly dangerous-” Merlin cut himself off when he looked away and spied a flicker of light through the trees at the bottom of the hill. There was a village there, and two more he’d have to pass by on his way to the Druids’ camp. His shoulders dropped when their unspoken meaning struck home. The forest may not have been dangerous to Merlin, but that didn’t mean its inhabitants weren’t. Probably, they had no idea who he was. But maybe one of them did and had a grudge against sorcerers. It only took a spark to set  a forest ablaze, and it only took a few words to incite a mob to tear someone apart, even if that someone did have magic.

He could make himself invisible and pass by the villages like a whisper on the wind, or he could save himself the effort and accept the help that Gwaine and Lancelot offered. Was it really such a terrible thing? Merlin sighed and nodded begrudgingly.  “Fine, then. But you’ll leave when I ask you to?”

“Of course we will,” Lancelot said quickly, before Gwaine could respond with some unhelpful comment.

“All right, then. Let’s go.” Merlin held back a bitter smile at his agreement, knowing that had he said ‘no’, they would have followed him all the same. He turned Altair about and set off down the hill, letting the horse pick his own pace. Altair settled on a light-footed trot through the trees, his ears twitching back and forth when he sensed Merlin’s agitation. Once, he tried to burst into a gallop but Merlin’s quick tug at the reins kept him in check. They stayed ahead of the other two riders until they were well past the village.

They reached a wide meadow when Gwaine spurred his horse on until he had drawn even with Merlin. “All right, what is it?” he asked. “You’re back in the forest where you always seem to want to be, and you’re on your way to see a bunch of friends for some celebration. I figured you’d be happy as a lark, but you’re nine kinds of gloomy. So what is it?”

“I wouldn’t call the Druids my _friends_. They’re . . . “ he trailed off and shrugged. “They’re more like me than not, and yet they’re not like me at all.”

“That’s a riddle I’m not going to bother untying.” Gwaine batted Merlin lightly on the shoulder. “It’s also not the answer to my question.”

Merlin closed his eyes and breathed in slowly. The night air was cool and sweet, and cleaner than any within the castle grounds. It felt free. Unburdened by walls or laws or the opinions of men. He felt a sudden yearning to break away from Lancelot and Gwaine and flee to the Druids. To stay with them and leave his troubles in Camelot behind. Among the Druids, he wouldn’t be so different. So hated.

But. . . Arthur wasn’t there.

“Merlin?” Lancelot asked. “What is it?”

“It’s nothing,” Merlin said. “It’s- Nothing. I just- Last year, when I was living out here in the forest as a journeyman healer, everyone welcomed me in. They were glad to see me. They fed and sheltered me, even if it was just potato soup and a spot in a barn. No one knew who I was.” He looked down as his hands, though it was hard to see them in the gloom. “Now everyone knows who I am, and the only thing that’s changed is that they know _what_ I am. And they hate me for it.”

“They don’t hate you, Merlin,” Lancelot tried to soothe him.

“They fear me, then, and men hate what they fear. So it’s all the same, isn’t it? I have my freedom, but somehow I’m less free than I was before.”

“You’re not as hated as you think you are, you know,” Lancelot said.

“Oh? How’s that?”

“The army likes you, for one. We’re not idiots.” Lancelot gave Gwaine a sidelong glance and smirked. “Well, we’re not all idiots.” Merlin snorted, but said nothing. “We know that after you showed up in Camelot, it was like Arthur couldn’t lose. As long as you’re by his side, we know he’ll make it through the battle. Maybe not unscathed, but he’ll live. He’ll be victorious.”

“So I’m a good luck charm, then? A glorified rabbit’s foot? Thank you, Lancelot. That makes me feel loads better,” Merlin said drily. Then he laughed. He couldn’t help it.

“Not so bad being Camelot’s rabbit foot, is it? At least the army likes you.” Gwaine’s smile was a flash in the dark.

“It’s not so great for the rabbit.” Merlin shook his head. “The army likes me. Well, then. All is right in the world.”

“Sarcasm doesn’t suit you, Merlin.”

“Sarcasm suits me perfectly well. I’m made of sarcasm. Sarcasm and magic. It’s a difficult combination to manage. You should try it sometime,” Merlin said.

“I think I’ll pass. I have enough troubles in my life as it is. The primary one being Gwaine,” Lancelot said. “Do you have any idea how hard it is keeping him in line?”

“I have some idea. I’ve had to do it before.”

Gwaine rolled his eyes. “Just listen to the two of you. I’ve taken care of myself all across the Five Kingdoms, thank you very much, and all without you two.” Gwaine said. His horse shook its head and snorted. The knight glared at its ears and scowled. “Don’t listen to the horse. It lies. It lies terribly.”

“Your horse is a perfectly truthful horse. He knows you too well, Gwaine.” Merlin’s grin wavered as he looked back. For a moment, he’d felt a presence brush against his consciousness. Some sense of something off. But in the darkness he couldn’t see far enough, and his spell-sight didn’t help, either.

“What’s wrong?” Lancelot asked.

“For a moment there, I thought there was something out there, but. . .” Merlin squinted into the trees as though that would help. “I think I’m just jumping at shadows.”

“Tell us if something’s about to jump out of shadows and eat us, will you? With all that- “ Gwaine waggled his fingers at Merlin, “You’ll have a better idea than we will. We’ll just be standing here gawping at it when it flies out of nowhere to take our heads off.”

“I think we’ll be all right. Probably just some crow or an owl. But yes,” he glanced back at the others, “I will tell you if something’s about to eat us.”

But nothing jumped out of the trees at them, threatening or otherwise, and they spent the rest of the journey in relative peace, if not quiet. To skirt around the third village, they edged along a marsh, and all around them, the shrilling of insects and the thrumming of frogs was enough to drown out the muffled thud of their horses’ hooves, and they had to raise their voices to be heard above the din. As their path arced away from the marsh, the noise eased, and half a mile past that, Merlin reined Altair in.

“And this is where I tell you to go away,” he told them.

Lancelot pressed a hand to his chest and bowed his head. “We’ll try not to take it too much to heart.”

“Speak for yourself. I intend to take it fully to heart, and I’m going to get back at you by getting you completely, stupidly drunk when you get home,” Gwaine said.

“I’ll be sure to avoid you when I get home, then.” Merlin grinned and turned Altair towards the east, waving a farewell to the knights. “I’ll see you in a couple of days, Lancelot. Gwaine, I’ll see you in a week.”

Their laughter followed him back into the trees.

Merlin continued on his way, his mood lifted by the company and the clean night air. He caught a glimpse of starlight now and then, the celestial music a quiet whisper in the back of his mind. For a while, he let Altair pick the path and let his mind wander through the twists and turns of the forest, and along the wings of owls. He tilted his head back, smiling brighter than he had for ages as the last bit of tension flowed out of him, muscles unknotting and relaxing fully.

_“I wish I belonged out here.”_

Life in Camelot was peaceful these days. Spring and summer had been gentle, bringing rain and warmth in equal measures without damaging storms to set things awry. The royal wedding, with its tournaments and pageantry- not the mention the popular new queen- had brightened everyone’s spirits, and nothing had happened in the past month and a half to dim those spirits. Camelot was as happy as it had been for a long, long time.

But the city still weighed on Merlin’s mind. The steady press of people, stacked atop one another both inside the castle and out. Their concerns, both petty and grave, drifted through the streets like a fog of emotion he couldn’t shake off, no matter where he went in the city. It had been that way since the spring, after his body had finished healing and the pain had gone away enough for him to notice how he’d changed.

His mind had opened up, his magic spreading out like wings, taking in everything around him- man or beast, plant or stone, earth or sky. It was a feeling that was familiar and strange at the same time. Merlin had always been able to sense the world around him when he made the effort, but now it happened without his having to think about it. Now, the world came to him and he had yet to learn how to shut it out.

Outside the city and beyond the villages, in the forest where only the animals wandered, everything was so much quieter. It was easy to forget how light he felt out here among the trees and how much everything pressed against him within the castle walls.

Merlin slowed Altair’s gait until they were moving at a slow walk. He’d have little enough time to enjoy the solitude once he reached the Druids’ camp, and Iseldir wouldn’t mind if he showed up at midnight.

He had less than a mile to travel when the strange feeling returned, that sense of something threatening that had brushed against his mind earlier. Merlin tugged at the reins, bringing Altair to a halt. He focused his mind on the land around him, closing his eyes to close out the distractions of light and shadow.

There was something- or someone- ahead and to the left. A strong, malevolent presence he’d felt before. Whispers of the Goddess. Merlin shuddered, the remembered pain of their last encounter washing through him.

He pushed it away and opened his eyes. Altair hadn’t moved, standing perfectly still with his head turned and ears twitching as he looked back the way they’d come. “Come on now,” Merlin patted the horse’s neck, “The threat’s not behind us. It’s up there.”

And like a proper idiot, Merlin was going to go and face it.

“I will never hear the end of it if whatever’s up there kills me and Arthur and the others find my old bones at the bottom of a cliff,” he muttered. “Let’s go, then,” he said to Altair, urging the horse forward.

He found the clearing easily enough. A ghostly light lit the space within the ring of yew trees. And there in the center of the clearing stood a woman, her pale face framed by dark braids. The too-familiar blue of her eyes was already fading from the inner light of prophecy.

Merlin’s breath caught. He slipped out of Altair’s saddle and let the reins drop as he stepped into the clearing.

“Hello, Morgana.”

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

“You’ve changed since last we saw each other.” Morgana took a tentative step toward him with a faraway look in her eyes, like she was watching him through a veil of time instead of across a clearing on a cool forest night. A quiet longing shone there too, and regret. He’d seen that expression before, the memory of it flashing through his mind like lightning, clearer than any other memory he had of Blackheath.

_“I might have loved you once,” she said._

In the midst of her taunts, there had been a moment when the vulnerable girl Morgana had once been had appeared. Her face softened and the light in her eyes had shone with such cracked innocence it was hard not to feel pity for her. It hadn’t been much of a change nor did it last long, but he had seen it, had felt it. She’d admitted that she might have loved him once. Merlin had admitted the same.

So many might-have-beens.

In that moment, there had been a slim chance he could have avoided what she intended for him, that she would have taken him away from that black cell. But Merlin had known, as surely as he knew the sound of his own heartbeat, that even if he had taken that chance, there was no easy way out of that web. Not when the Goddess’s hand directed Morgana’s fate. He might have avoided the pyre only to fall prey to the Goddess later on.

And so he’d burned.

Merlin took another step into the clearing, his eyes narrowing at the pale lights. Faerie fire and will ‘o the wisp spread a greenish glow through the air, and soft sparks flashed here and there in the tree branches, tiny bursts of frozen blues and fiery reds. “You’ve changed, too,” he said. Her features were sharper, the hollows of her face deeper. Her eyes were shadowed, and the cold blue they’d turned seemed to shine like lights within the darkness. She inclined her head in the faintest nod, but didn’t move otherwise.

“Why are you here, Morgana?” Merlin let his senses wash through the trees, looking for other magical beings that might be lurking, waiting in some sort of ambush, but there were none.

“I was brought here,” Morgana said. Her voice was distant, as though she spoke to him from beyond a dream. “Brought here to find the missing piece.”

“The missing piece of what?” Merlin heard a strange buzzing in his ears. He winced and shook his head to try to rid himself of it, but it remained.

“The future.” Morgana rushed forward. Her movements were smooth, almost like she was floating. She stopped in front of him, one shaking hand rising to touch his face, but Merlin flinched away. The scar under his eye- the reminder of the injury she’d given him- ached. Morgana’s brow knit, but she didn’t try to touch him again. “You’ve seen it, haven’t you? A day without a sun, and the sea rising over the mountains to. . . “

“. . . wash over the land, bringing war and sorrow and death in its wake,” Merlin said. “And that hour will be Albion’s darkest, a time when the sword shall be called forth from the stone. . . “

“. . . and broken alliances will be reforged,” Morgana said, her voice as arid as Merlin’s had been. “Old powers, once lost, shall be awakened. From the storm-tossed towers of the Isle of the Blessed. . . “

“. . . to the shores and the deepening mists of the Summer Country,” Merlin said. “Then will mark the rise of the Once and Future King. . . “

“. . . and all must unite, else all will be lost, and night will lay upon Albion for a thousand years.”

Morgana gasped and stumbled back, nearly falling. Merlin staggered away from her, catching a steady tree trunk to stay upright. “What was that? What did you do?” Morgana glared up at him, her eyes slowly returning to their normal shade, dark again in the moonlight.

“Nothing.” Merlin shook his head to clear his swimming vision. “I didn’t do anything. That was prophecy. Fate speaking through us.”

“But why bring us here for it? Why bring us together?”

“I don’t know. Do you think I have any more answers than you do?” Merlin straightened, but kept his back against the tree. He hadn’t sensed any magical danger, but that didn’t mean Morgana couldn’t summon something. Or attack him herself.

“You always seemed to. Or you pretended that you did. So self-righteous.” Morgana squared her shoulders and used a breath of magic to brush away the leaves caught up in her skirts. She half-turned away, her posture a study in adolescent sullenness before she looked back at him. Confusion was plainly written on her face. “Why did you never tell me the truth? About yourself? About me? Things could have been different. So much different. For everyone.”

Merlin studied her for a long moment, drawing a breath to give her an answer, then stopping when he realized it sounded trite even to him. “Because I was afraid, Morgana. Afraid of what we were and what our magics were turning us into. Of what Uther would do to both of us if he found out. And I was afraid of losing Arthur’s love.” Merlin bit his lip and looked away. He didn’t want to admit that he was also afraid, for some misbegotten reason, of Morgana’s judgment. “Perhaps Fate brought us together because we wouldn’t know the whole of that prophecy without both of us being present. Maybe it was another way to tell us that ‘broken alliances would be reforged’. Perhaps someday, we will have to put our old enmity aside and work together to keep Albion from being destroyed.”

“Perhaps,” Morgana said. Her voice was soft, almost sad. Merlin looked up at her again, and saw something like regret written upon her face. “It seems we are fated to endure far more than our fair share of suffering and death. Perhaps we would have been happier if we’d been born in another time.”

Merlin smiled sadly. “For better or for worse, Morgana, I am exactly where I’m supposed to be.”

“Perhaps.” Her gaze turned inward for a moment. Her lips parted, as though she were about to say something. She stopped herself, though. Her back straightened and her chin came up. Her posture regained the stubborn pride of a High Priestess. “I make no apologies. What’s done is done. Good-bye, Merlin. Perhaps someday I will see you again.”

Morgana stepped back, away from the pale light of the will ‘o the wisp, whispering words of magic as she went. A cold breeze swept through the branches, growing in strength as it spiraled about her, whipping leaves and twigs up into the air until Merlin had to cover his eyes until the wind had passed. When it died, and the clearing was still again, Morgana was gone.

 

* * *

 

In the tumult of their meeting, neither Merlin nor Morgana had paid attention to anything beyond the clearing. They were too caught up in the machinations of Fate, the prophecy, and hashing out old sins to notice the quick tread of footsteps running away from that magic-haunted clearing, heading straight for the city of Camelot.

 


	5. Chapter 5

_‘Iseldir?’_

Merlin sent the thought out into the night, knowing that he was close enough that the Druid leader would “hear” him well enough. He hadn’t stayed in the clearing for long after Morgana’s departure, too rattled by her appearance to ponder anything more than “she was here, and then she was gone again”. He’d let Altair pick their path for a half-mile or so, trying to get the echoing words of the prophecy out of his head.

It didn’t work. So instead of letting himself dwell too much on it, he took up the reins again and took control of their path for the last half-mile, leaving the forest trail only when he arrived at the spot where he needed to turn northwest. Though how he knew it was _this_ particular oak tree, and not _that_ one, he would never know. He blamed it on magic.

“Emrys?”

Merlin jumped at the unexpected voice and looked up the hill. Iseldir appeared out of the darkness between two ash trees. “Iseldir. You startled me.”

“Are you all right?” The Druid hurried down to where Merlin was. He didn’t seem to be bothered by the darkness or the undergrowth, keeping his eyes on the warlock as Merlin swung out of the saddle.

“Yes. A bit troubled by someone I didn’t expect to see tonight, but I’m fine otherwise. Why?”

Iseldir rested his hands on Merlin’s shoulders. His eyes shone in the moonlight. “You were near death when I last saw you, Emrys. Surely you can understand my concern for your welfare.” Iseldir looked Merlin up and down, as though searching for lingering problems or looking for new injuries. The weight of his regard sent an itching along the scars on Merlin’s back.

“I’m well now, and I’ve heard that I have you to thank for it. Lancelot- he’s one of the knights- told me how you and two girls braved the camp of Camelot to save me. I never had the chance to thank you for it.” Merlin said.

“You need not thank me. I would have risked everything to save you. Without you, we are all lost, Emrys.”

Merlin’s smile wavered. He knew how the Druids regarded him as some sort of saviour, but he hated to be reminded of it. Even when it was Iseldir doing the reminding. Or maybe it was especially unnerving _because_ it was Iseldir. It was one thing to hear such things from a random shepherd or seamstress. Quite another to hear it from Iseldir, their leader who was among the wisest men Merlin had ever met, and whose words carried a heavier weight than most others.

He shrugged out of Iseldir’s grasp and grabbed Altair’s reins before heading further into the trees. “Will the bards be singing tonight, or will you be telling more stories?”

Iseldir was silent for a moment, before he moved to follow Merlin. “Tonight, there has been singing. Tomorrow, there will be more of the same, as well as my stories. And. . . “ Beside him, Iseldir trailed off, his ragged intake of breath betraying a sudden nervousness. Merlin glanced back him him. He’d never seen the Druid anything but serene before. “I have a favor to ask of you.”

“Of me?”

“Yes. Or perhaps of the king.”

Merlin raised an eyebrow. An incredulous smile tugged at a corner of his mouth. “What favor would you ask of me? Or Arthur? And, really, you don’t need to _ask_ , Iseldir. I already owe you my life. Whatever it is that you need, I’ll see to it that you get it.”

“You should hear me out before you agree. I believe that Arthur will wish to hear of it, and perhaps the queen, as well.”

“You’re beginning to weave a great riddle. What is it you need?” Merlin asked.

Iseldir sighed and pushed a low-hanging branch aside so Merlin could pass by. “You remember, last winter, that I was escorting two of the young women of my camp to Helva so they could study with the healers there?” Merlin nodded. “They came back to us a fortnight ago. One of them, Niniane, is especially gifted in the healing arts. And sometimes- perhaps once a year- she has visions. Shortly after they returned, Niniane told me that she’d had another one, and that in this dream, she was serving in the court of Camelot. She didn’t know what her purpose was there, but it was somehow vital.”

“What, as one of Gwen’s ladies-in-waiting?” Merlin’s eyebrows rose dangerously close to his hairline. This was not the sort of request he’d been expecting. “Is she sure? Are you sure? What of her family? What do they have to say about this?”

“Niniane has no family. Not since she was a child.” Iseldir’s expression darkened for a moment, and Merlin knew without being told that they had not died peacefully. “She is certain. She spoke of it every day until I agreed to speak to you about it. And I?” He shook his head. “Niniane is of age. She is entitled to make her own decisions. The prospect of her going to Camelot makes me uneasy, but it’s what she wants. It’s what she saw.”

Merlin pursed his lips and stared at the ground. He knew better than most that making such great decisions based on wily visions was ill-advised. “I guess,” he said reluctantly, “that I can speak to Arthur and Gwen about it. She already had two ladies’ maids, but other queens have had more. Arthur’s own mother, I hear, once had nearly a dozen servants to keep her company while Uther was away. I’d like to speak to her first, though. To Niniane, I mean. She has to know what it’s like to live as a magic-user in Camelot, how-” Merlin bit his lip to keep his words in check. He had been about to say _‘how lonely it is, and how hated we still are by some_ ’, but Iseldir surely knew that.

“I told her as much,” Iseldir said. “I also said she would likely be interviewed by the queen at the very least, and perhaps the king, as well. I thought it might dampen her enthusiasm, but it only seemed to make her want it all the more.”

“She sounds like Arthur in that respect,” Merlin chuckled. “The more you tell him he can’t do something, the more he wants to do it.” It was one of Merlin’s strongest traits, too, based on the number of times Gaius had scolded him for using his magic.

“Indeed. I asked her to wait until tomorrow, but she is headstrong and will likely ambush you with her questions tonight.”

“I appreciate the warning. And I’ll answer as truthfully as I can,” Merlin said.

An owl winged past, its wings skimming just over Merlin’s head. He jumped, one hand coming up to ward it away. A spell died on his lips.

Iseldir gave him a sidelong glance and took a breath to say something. Then his brow furrowed, and he lowered his eyes. “Forgive me, Emrys. You had said something was troubling you, and then I tossed my own worries at you.”

Merlin gave him a brittle smile and waved his apology away. “It’s all right. It’s. . . “

“What?”

“Have, um, have you been having visions? Of a threat from the east? Of something coming over the mountains to wash us all away and destroy the Five Kingdoms? I’ve had two visions of it now, and-” Merlin broke off and licked his lips. For all that it had happened an hour ago, it was hard to find the words to describe his encounter. “Tonight, while I was on my way here, I saw Morgana.”

Iseldir’s eyes widened. He glanced around, as though expecting her to appear out of the  darkness and attack them.

“She’s gone now, but. . . It was so strange. There was- we had a, a shared prophecy. One of us would say something, and the other would pick up from where the other left off, like we were minstrels singing  a duet. We spoke of old powers rising and broken alliances being reforged. And. . .  like any prophecy, I guess, it will only make sense when the events pass.” Merlin rubbed his eyes. “I just wish I either didn’t have them, or that they actually made sense.”

“Or that the effect of their passing wasn’t so exhausting.” Iseldir briefly rested a hand on Merlin’s shoulder. “I have had some portents, but nothing even as clear as what you’ve seen. I’m afraid I have no better advice for you than to wait and see.”

“I hate having to be so patient about these things,” Merlin grumbled.

“Perhaps we can take your mind off it for a time, then,” Iseldir said. “It is Lughnasadh, after all. A time for celebration, not for worries.”

“I suppose I’m willing to let you try.”

 

* * *

 

The quiet celebration was in full swing by the time they arrived. Merlin heard the laughter before he saw the firelight. The storyteller was just finishing his tale when he and Iseldir entered the ring of light, and all eyes landed on Merlin, the people’s expressions tinged with awe at the sight of him. Merlin smiled nervously and gave them a tentative wave. For a moment he wished he could melt back into the shadows and pretend he wasn’t there and simply watch the festivities from afar. Whether people looked at him with reverence or hate, it was never comfortable to be stared at.

Iseldir felt him tense up. He brushed Merlin’s arm, a gesture meant to be reassuring. Then he took half a step forward, partially blocking Merlin from the people’s view. “Emrys is here to celebrate Lughnasadh with us, not to be gawked at. If you wish to stare at something, go stare at the stars. Aneirin, another story if you will?”

There was a gangly man in the middle of everything. His face was deeply tanned and weathered, and a few streaks of gray marred the black of his hair. His dark eyes sparkled with merriment. He had a lap harp braced against his knee. “Of course,” he said brightly. “Would you all like to hear the tale of Llyr’s daughter, Branwen, as sad as it is?” The Druids gathered around voiced their approval for that idea, and Aneirin flexed his long, graceful fingers over the harp’s fine strings, making a few notes ring out when he brushed against them.

He moistened his lips and took a breath, launching into the first words of a song of surpassing beauty. His voice was high for a man’s but smooth, and sweet before dropping low now and then when the song dipped into unhappy notes. Aneirin’s silvery voice was enchanting, holding his audience rapt, their eyes fixed on him and him alone. For a short time, all of them- including Merlin- forgot their own troubles as they listened, hanging on every note and word of the story. It was beguiling enough that Merlin was sure the birds would come down out of their nests to hear the song better.

“It is said that Aneirin is one of the finest poets ever to grace this land,” Iseldir whispered into Merlin’s ear at a point in the song where Aneirin simply played the harp. “His words have inspired many, and his poetry is taught to all those training to become bards.”

“I can understand why,” Merlin whispered back. “I’ve never heard such a beautiful song.”

“His is a rare gift,” Iseldir agreed.

“I don’t remember seeing him when I was here last year.”

“He chose to stay in Nemeth last year, to sing and study with our cousins in the south. He rejoined us in the spring. His presence has been a blessing,” Iseldir whispered.

When Aneirin’s song ended, the spell of Druidic awe toward Merlin was lifted, with the reverence being given to Aneirin, who was better able to receive the adulation than Merlin was. Merlin, who had always clung to the shadows, doing his best to keep people from noticing him lest the secret of his magic be revealed unintentionally. Such lifelong habits were nearly impossible to break, even if he had wanted to shake it off.

So he kept to the edges of the groups, only engaging in light conversation when another started it, accepting the food he was given, listening to the music and the stories that started up with no apparent cue, and doing his best not to drink every cup of honey wine that was pressed into his hands. He drank a few of them, anyway. The quality of it was too high, the sweetness too pure to pass it up completely.

Midnight had long passed when Merlin finally felt comfortable in his skin and had fully reclaimed his senses from the effects of the honey wine. The people had lost their reticence, as well, if the looks he was getting from several young women was any sign. Their lascivious glances had nothing to do with reverence, and everything to do with the intimate goings-on between man and woman.

Merlin was glad that the forest’s darkness and the ruddy firelight hid his blushes. He wasn’t innocent of such matters, but. . . women just didn’t look at him like that. At Lancelot, Gwaine, and the other knights, perhaps. Arthur for certain, power was a great aphrodisiac, after all. But no girl had looked at him like that since Freya.

Another voice rang out over the chatter. A woman’s voice, soaring higher even than Aneirin’s had. The words she sang were strange, a tongue from across the sea, maybe, or from the Hollow Hills where the fae dwelled. Among the Druids, neither would have surprised him. Merlin looked for the singer in the rings of firelight he could see, but he couldn’t find her. He stopped searching and listened instead.

_Tá bean in Éirinn a bheadh ag éad liom mur' bhfaighfinn ach póg_   
_Ó bhean ar aonach, nach ait an scéala, is mo dháimh féin leo;_   
_Tá bean ab fhearr liom nó cath is céad dhíobh nach bhfagham go deo_   
_Is tá cailín spéiriúil ag fear gan Bhéarla, dubhghránna cróin._

_Tá bean i _Laighnibh_  is nios mhiste léithe bheith límh liom ar bord,_   
_Is tá bean i bhFearnmhaigh a ghéabhadh bhéarsai is is sárbhinne glór,_  
 _Bhí bean ar thaobh cnoic i gCarraig Éamoinn a níodh gáire ag ól_  
 _Is tráth bhí ina maighdin ní mise d'éignigh dá chois ó chomhar._

Her voice was familiar, somehow, though Merlin couldn’t place it, like something he’d heard in his childhood or in a dream. His breath caught, and the scarred tissue around his wrists tingled in sympathy. He rubbed his wrists in turn until the feeling went away and readjusted the lacing of the braces. While his skin had healed as much as it was going to, Merlin was loathe to reveal the burn scars he still carried. So he still wore the braces, even if they were uncomfortable in the summer heat.

The woman’s voice picked up the song again.

_Tá bean a déarfadh dá siulfainn léi go bhfaighinn an t-ór,_   
_Is tá bean 'na léine is is fearr a méin ná na táinte bó_   
_Le bean a bhuairfeadh Baile an Mhaoir is clár Thír Eoghain,_   
_Is ní fheicim leigheas ar mo ghalar féin ach scaird a dh'ól_

Merlin couldn’t help but try to place the voice again, his thoughts spinning around and around until he was sure he’d identified her a half dozen times, only to realize every time that he was completely wrong.

He slipped away to an empty clearing to catch a breath of fresh air and clear his mind. The full moon rode high in the sky, washing the forest with a silvery light. A few, wispy clouds covered the sky in a few places, but Merlin could still hear the celestial song. He took a long, slow breath in and let it out again. He let his mind go blank with one of the meditative exercises Gaius had taught him, back when Merlin was first learning to properly control his magic.

Alone in the middle of the clearing, with Aneirin’s golden voice echoing through the trees, Merlin finally caught hold of the peace he’d been missing. The tension melted away and the knots finally unwound from his muscles. Laughter bubbled up from his chest as he let his senses spread out into the forest. Behind him, in several groups spread across the hillside, were all the Druids- Isledir and Aneirin, Carys and Ifan, and all the others he’d been introduced to, but whose names he couldn’t remember. When he let his concentration deepen, he could sense the animals nearby. A brace of foxes, a family of quail nesting in a hazel thicket. Altair was out there, too, and his own little puffball of an owl had followed him there and tucked itself into the hollow of an oak tree to sleep.

A new presence made itself known. Someone he hadn’t met yet. Merlin heard her soft footsteps approach the clearing. He opened his eyes.

A young woman stood in the shadows, hesitant, unsure about whether she should enter the clearing or not.

“Can I help you?” Merlin asked.

“I don’t mean to disturb you, Emrys,” she said. It was the young woman who had been singing earlier. “I just wanted to talk to you. To ask you something, if I may?”

“Of course you may,” Merlin said. “But step into the light, please? I can’t see you very well. My eyes. . . are not as good as they used to be.”

“I’m sorry,” she said. “Of course I should have known that. We’d heard about. . . Sorry.” She laughed nervously. The sound was like silver chimes. She stepped into the clearing, brushed her hair out of her face, and looked up at him. Even in the moonlight, which bleached the color out of the world, her eyes were the deep, vivid green of midsummer leaves.

Merlin’s breath left him.

He’d seen this girl before. In his vision. The green-eyed girl who was meant to- _‘No,’_ he denied the memory of what he’d seen.

_“Don’t let this be my last sight of you. . .  “_

She smiled at him shyly. Her sharp features were pale in the moonlight, her hair a night-dark fall to her hips. Merlin knew it would be soft as silk when he wound his fingers into it. “I haven’t told you my name. I’m sorry,” she said. “I have no manners. My name is Niniane.”

_“. . . my love.”_

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Though it’s rather anachronistic, Niniane sings the song, "Mná na hÉireann", which is a poem written by the 18th century Irish poet Peadar Ó Doirnín. It was set to music in the 20th century by Seán Ó Riada. My favorite version of the song is sung by Kate Bush.


	6. Chapter 6

"I feel like I know you from somewhere," Merlin said. "Or at least your voice. It's familiar, somehow. How do I know you?" His brow furrowed as he tried to place her, recall that silvery voice, that beautiful face from somewhere other than his vision.

Niniane's eyes widened in surprise and delight. "I didn't think you would remember me at all. You've only seen me the once, though I have seen you twice."

"When did I see you?"

"At the same time you first saw me. Exactly one year ago, at the last celebration of Lughnasadh. You had only just arrived, and it was only for a moment." She smiled brightly and stepped forward. "I'd thought I was entirely forgettable. Just another face. But I couldn't forget you."

"Right," Merlin breathed. He thought he remembered the moment, but it might have been his mind playing tricks on him. "And the second time you saw me?"

"Yes. That." The smile ran away from Niniane's face. She looked away, her lips trembling with unspoken words. "The second time was last winter, after the battle at the fortress they call Blackheath. Owenna and I, and Iseldir of course, healed you there. We did our best, anyway, it was such a near thing. . . " She bit her lip and looked up at him through her lashes, as though shocked that he was actually alive and standing before her. "You wouldn't remember that. At least, I'd pray to all the gods you don't remember that."

"No, I don't." His memories of his imprisonment and what came after were mercifully hazy, clearest in the nightmares that still woke him, but faded when he woke. "But somehow I remember your voice. I think it was yours, anyway. Maybe I was dreaming, but when you were singing just now, I could have sworn I'd heard you before. Singing a lullaby, perhaps?"

A look of profound sadness settled on Niniane's face. Her eyes glistened, and yet it didn't take away from her beauty. She licked her lips and took a breath, then sang two lines from a lullaby Merlin remembered his mother singing to him.

_"Oh hush thee my dove, oh hush thee my sweet love  
_ _Oh hush thee my lapwing, my dear little bird."_

Merlin's smile was bittersweet. "That's it. That's the song. My- my mother sang it to me when I was a child. And it was your voice. I'm sure of it now."

"Oh, gods, Emrys. How is it you were aware enough to remember that? What they'd done to you. . . You were so badly injured we feared you'd never wake, but now you tell me that you remember what song I sang? How. . . ? I'm so sorry, Emrys. We should have done more. We should have-" Ninane clapped a hand over her mouth. The tears in her eyes threatened to spill over.

Merlin took two steps forward, his hand rising to wipe her tears away before they could fall. He stopped himself before he touched her. "No, Niniane. It wasn't like that at all. I didn't know what was going on around me that day. Not really. I know I was in pain, and what I remember of your song was that it gave me peace. It helped me find rest. It's the last thing I remember before I woke up in Camelot and was safe again." And in constant pain, blinded, and plagued with nightmares, but she didn't need to know that. He brushed those memories away and smiled.

Niniane studied his face, searching for the lie in his words. But there was none. He'd told her nothing but the truth as he remembered it. "I wish I could have done more."

"You did enough. Truly, Niniane. It was enough." Merlin smiled again to reassure her. It was sweeter this time. "Now. What was it you wanted to ask me? Iseldir told me you might come and find me."

"I'm sorry. You must think I'm terribly forward. And ill-mannered. Again." She laughed and looked away. Merlin thought he detected a blush high on her cheeks, but it was hard to tell in the moonlight.

"Not at all. Ask away," he said.

She glanced up shyly before summoning her courage. "Did he, Iseldir, I mean. Did he tell you that I have visions every so often?" Merlin nodded. "Good. You see, I saw that I would go to Helva in one of those dreams. And so we did, and it was a good thing, too, otherwise we wouldn't have been there last winter, and you-" Niniane cut herself off before she could finish that thought. "Anyway. Just after I came home I had another vision, where I was serving the queen in Camelot. I have some purpose there. I don't know what it is, but it's important, whatever it is."

Niniane stopped and bit her lip, her fingers tugging at her skirts. "I'd half a mind to just go to Camelot and try to find you or the queen, but Iseldir talked some sense into me. Fortunately."

"He has that effect," Merlin said. "Do you have any idea what it is you're meant to do in Camelot?"

"No. I never really see what it is I'm supposed to do in these visions. I only ever see where I'm meant to be, not what I'm meant to do. It's quite frustrating. I'm sure you understand that, though."

"Yes, I do." He studied her face, looking for some sign of ill intent, some clue that she knew anything of what his own vision had hinted at, but there was nothing there. She was just a young woman full of hope. "I'll speak with Arthur and Guinevere when I get back, then. I can't promise that they'll accept, but I'll ask. Whatever the answer is, I'll send word."

"Thank you!" Niniane's smile lit up the clearing. She grabbed his hand and pressed it between both of hers. Merlin felt something like a spark travel up his arm. She didn't seem to notice anything strange.

"Assuming they accept," Merlin said quietly, "you know it won't be easy. The work itself, well, Guinevere was once a servant herself. She won't overburden you. But being. . . one of us, in Camelot, it's difficult. It can be very lonely. Magic is legal again, but that doesn't mean the people are happy about it. There are many who still hate and fear us. Some of the nobility claim that I whisper poisonous council into Arthur's ear, and that I mean to destroy Camelot." Niniane's fingers tightened around his. "I don't tell you this because I want sympathy, though. This is the path I chose. I knew it would be hard. I'm telling you because I want you to know what you'll be walking into.

"The city is not at all like the forest. There's less freedom, it's hard to find a place to be alone, and it seems there's always someone watching. It's loud. It smells funny, and every time you turn around there's a new face." Merlin shrugged and looked for details that didn't make Camelot sound like a prison. "But there are good things, too. There are always new sights to see, new things to try. The market is full of color, and there's music from all over the Five Kingdoms. There are good people, too. People who aren't afraid of magic and would give you the clothes of their back if they thought you needed them."

"Camelot sounds like a wondrous place, then. A good place to make a home." Niniane smiled at the questioning look Merlin gave her. "Or did you think that wandering the forest all your life was all sunshine and roses? Camelot may not be the easiest place to live, but it is your home. At the end of the day you know where you're going to sleep, and you know that you'll be as safe as anyone can hope for. We don't always have that, you know."

"I, uh, I hadn't thought of that," Merlin admitted.

"We all have our own troubles. I suppose what matters most is that we're with the people we love."

Merlin looked into Niniane's eyes. They really were an astonishing shade of green. "Are you sure you're willing to give that up?"

She only smiled in return.

"Niniane?" Iseldir's voice came from the trees.

They jerked apart as though they were about to be caught in an awkward, compromising position, instead of merely talking and holding hands in a forest glen.

Iseldir stepped out of the trees and raised an eyebrow at Merlin, a knowing glint in his eyes at the sight of them. "I had a feeling I'd find you here. Aneirin has asked if you would sing a duet with him?"

"Aneirin wants to sing with  _me_?" Her eyes widened. "I'm not even very good!"

"And yet he requested you by name. Would you deny him?" Niniane's eyes widened even further, if that was possible, and she shook her head. "Then perhaps you should go and find him."

"Yes, of course," she said, her tone nearly delirious, and she hurried off into the trees.

Iseldir watched her go with a fond smile that didn't leave his face when he looked back at Merlin. "You should watch yourself around her, Emrys. I'm sure you have noticed how the girls in the camp look at you, but Niniane … It nearly broke her heart to see you so close to death last winter. I would say that love cannot grow from one brief meeting, but…" He shook his head and sighed. "Be careful of your heart. And of hers."

Merlin opened his mouth to speak, but couldn't form the words. He nodded instead, his gaze traveling unbidden to the break in the trees Niniane had disappeared.

Gaius would call this puppy love and admonish him for being foolish. He would say that no one could fall in love after one meeting, that such an infatuation was born of physical desire that was no more than skin deep. He would give Merlin the same sort of advice that Iseldir just had. Or worse. He would probably tell him to stay away from Niniane, just like he'd told Merlin to stay away from Freya.

But Merlin didn't want to stay away from Niniane any more than he'd wanted to keep away from Freya. It had been so terribly long since he'd felt his heart race like this or seen a woman smile at him like Niniane had. He wasn't made of stone. He felt the same stirrings as any other man, wanted to love and be loved as much as anyone else did.

Love was the most perilous adventure of all. He knew it better than most. It was a risk he was willing to take.

" _Maybe I misread the vision. Perhaps Niniane's not meant to hurt me."_ Perhaps he should be more like Arthur in that regard, and refuse to give up despite a prophecy's words. The king had dragged Merlin back from death twice now, after all, despite the visions that had foretold the warlock's doom.

His heart was racing. " _How many chances am I going to have to fall in love?"_

"Shall we go and hear them sing, then?" Iseldir asked.

"Yes," Merlin glanced back him, a slow blush rising on his face as he made his decision. "Yes. Let's go."

They made it back to the camp just as Aneirin was setting his fingers to his harp strings. All the best seats had been taken, leaving Merlin and Iseldir to stand at the edge of the firelight and away from the little globes of light that surrounded the singers as the song began. The melody was a simple one, and sweet despite its melancholy air. Aneirin sang the first verse.

_You may go down to Rosemary Faire_  
 _Every rose grows merry and fine_  
 _Pick me out then the finest girl there  
_ _And I shall make her a true lover of mine._

Niniane sang next, her voice pure and high. Silver to his golden tones.

_Tell him to find me an acre of land_  
 _Every rose grows merry and fine_  
 _Between the salt water and the sea strand.  
_ _Or he'll never be a true lover of mine._

Aneirin gave Niniane an encouraging smile as his next verse began.

_Tell her to send me a cambric shirt_  
 _Every rose grows merry and fine_  
 _Made without needle or needlework  
_ _Or she cannot be a true lover of mine._

She smiled back at Aneirin before her gaze flicked over the audience to find Merlin watching her.

_Tell him to bring it to Rosemary Faire_  
 _Every rose grows merry and fine_  
 _When he arrives there'll be nobody there  
_ _And he'll never be a true lover of mine._

Merlin caught his breath as Niniane's voice trailed off. Aneirin's harp faded into silence as he whistled the song into its end. " _If she were mine, I wouldn't give her such an impossible task to prove herself…"_ He jumped inwardly, startled by the train of his own thoughts, and glanced around to see if he'd been wise enough to keep that thought to himself. It seemed he had. No one was looking at him, anyway. The crowd's attention was fully on Aneirin and Niniane as they alternately praised the duo and pleaded with them to sing another duet. With enough begging, the crowd got their way. Aneirin and Niniane settled down to sing again once they'd each had another cup of mead.

Merlin leaned against a low, convenient oak branch to watch them.

"Emrys?" Iseldir touched his shoulder. "I must to attend to something. Do you need anything?"

"No," Merlin shook his head. "I'm perfectly fine where I am."

"Of course you are," Iseldir said, smiling as he glanced toward Niniane, then back at Merlin. "Have a good night, then."

"You, too."

Iseldir disappeared into the shadows, leaving Merlin to his thoughts as Niniane began to sing again. Merlin watched her, his gaze refusing to be moved from her face, as though everything else in the world had fallen away, leaving only Niniane behind.

' _Be careful of your heart,_ ' the Druid had said. He would try his best, he really would. But if his too brief relationship with Freya was any indication, he was already lost. A dry forest could stand quietly for years, but when lightning struck, it would burst into flames in an instant.

If only he could get the vision out of his head.  _"What are you meant to do to me?"_ He looked out across the crowd and met Niniane's eyes. She gave him a coy smile and looked away.  _"What have you already done to me?"_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song Niniane and Aneirin sing here is also a little anachronistic. The base song is Scarborough Faire, but the lyrics to that song vary depending upon the version you're looking at. The specific version used here is 'Rosemary Faire', from Aine Minogue's album, Between the Worlds.


	7. Chapter 7

"All I'm saying is that the Lady Linnet isn't as cold as she once was. Which means she's warming up to me." Gwaine spun on a heel to face his disbelieving companions as they walked down the sunlit hallway. "And that means there's hope."

"By the time she warms up enough to not refuse your company, you'll be too old to enjoy it, Gwaine," Lancelot said. He threw Elyan a long-suffering look. They'd been over this before, Gwaine knew, but he didn't care. He'd carried a torch for Linnet since the moment he first saw her, and any crack in her icy exterior was a positive sign.

"You should set your sights a little lower," Elyan said..

"On who? Lady Elayne?" Gwaine scoffed and waved away the notion. "Certainly she's shorter that Lady Linnet, but no one's going to catch her eye unless Lancelot's dead. Maybe not even then." The world knew that Guinevere's little blonde lady-in-waiting hadn't looked twice at any man since Lancelot had danced with her at the royal wedding. Truth be told, Elayne had hardly looked at any man before that, but that one dance seemed to have locked her heart up forever.

"Maybe you should talk to Merlin about making you a love potion." Elyan's tone was light, joking.

"I already did," Gwaine said. "He flat out refused. Said he hated love potions." He chuckled at the thought of hating love potions before going on. "'Think about it, Gwaine,' he says, 'wouldn't you rather Lady Linnet loved you for being you, and not because some potion made her do it?' I know he's right. I wasn't serious about it, but from the look on his face, you'd have thought I either was being serious, or that I was suggesting we go out for a nice dinner of mud and tadpoles."

"Now there's a man who could use some fair company," Elyan said. "He's not bad looking, but I've never even seen him give a girl a second glance."

"If Arthur would give him a day to himself, maybe he could go out and have a look." Gwaine turned back around in time to keep from knocking his head against a low-hanging sconce. "I wonder if he's ever had the chance to find himself a girl. Though how he'd entertain her in that closet of his with Gaius lurking in the next room is beyond me."

"You'd find a way, I'm sure," Elyan said.

Lancelot's steps slowed for a moment before he fell back into stride with the others. "I think there was someone once, a long time ago."

"You're kidding me? Merlin and a girl?" Gwaine grinned. It was high time he'd found out about that. Elyan was right about Merlin, after all. He wasn't a bad looking chap. Gwaine had heard many a lass all atwitter about young men who didn't look so different from him. Something about the blue eyes and cheekbones. But then, those blokes didn't have magic, or that sort of fey look about them that sent uneasy shivers down Gwaine's spine. "Who was she? And when did you find that out?"

"One night last winter, when he was delirious with fever," Lancelot said. The smile fell off Gwaine's face. Doubtless, they'd all heard feverish mumblings from Merlin about things they'd never been meant to hear. "Even after we took him to the- to the healer, you know he was ill a time or two after that. I was sitting with him one night when he wasn't doing well at all. He'd hardly made sense for the little he was awake, and was dead silent when he finally fell asleep. So deep I had to check his breathing from time to time, just to make sure he hadn't died on me. Then, around midnight, he opened his eyes. They were almost white- just a little bit of blue in them, like when we pulled him off the pyre- and he was looking at something. Obviously looking at something despite his blindness. Then he whispered a name, 'Freya'."

Lancelot suppressed a shiver, as though a cold breeze had blown down the summer-warm hallway. "Then he went so still... I was about to call for Gaius, when Merlin started breathing again and curled up like nothing strange had happened. The fever went away and he slept through the night. I asked him about it the next morning, but all he'd say what that she was someone he'd known a long time ago, and that she was gone. From the way he said it, it didn't sound like she'd just moved away."

"Merlin, the tragic romantic hero." Gwaine laughed nervously, then didn't try to laugh at all. Or smile. "You could write a long, strange book about his life, couldn't you?"

"That you could," Elyan said, his voice hushed. They were all quiet then, each recalling whatever strange memories they had of the sorcerer who had helped bring them together and made them what they were today, each wondering if Merlin, the brilliant young man with the sad smile would ever find peace and happiness.

Lancelot was the first to try to lighten the mood. "Listen to us, gossiping like old hens. You'd think we didn't have anything better to do."

"I don't."

"Weren't you supposed to be on patrol?" Elyan asked.

"Yes," Gwaine replied, "but I traded with Percival. Someone said the weather was supposed to turn foul and start to rain in the next few days. I'd rather not be out in that. I told him there was a woman at the inn at Hadleigh who had her eye on him the last time we went through."

"Was there?"

"Aye, there was." Gwaine grinned. "A one-eyed crone with a walking stick she liked to hit people with if they came too close. And she had her eye on Percival while we were there. She watched him all night. Probably thought he was going to step on her or something. Wouldn't have surprised me. He did get a bit drunk."

"You're a menace, Gwaine. An absolute menace." Lancelot shook his head.

"I wasn't lying. Hilde's a woman, even if-"

"Lancelot!" Leon's voice echoed from the other end of the hallway. The three knights quickened their pace to meet him. "Gwaine, you're here, too. Good. Arthur wants to see you in the Great Hall immediately."

"What for?"

Leon opened his mouth to speak but hesitated, his mouth opening and closing a time or three like a landed fish. "You should hear it there. It's not good." That part was obvious by the pallor of Leon's skin and the expression on his face, like he was either about to throw up or hit something. "Come on. The sooner we get this over with, the better."

The scene in the Great Hall was eerily quiet on a day where even the lowest-born subjects were granted an audience with the king. Chatter usually echoed through the vast space, but today it was quiet. Though the hall was filled nearly to bursting with people, they stood in near silence. Guinevere sat stiffly in her seat at Arthur's side, her expression guarded. The privy council waited near the throne among a small crowd of Camelot's highest ranking nobles. Pynell was there too, a barely-suppressed look of triumph on his pinched face.

In the middle of everything knelt a peasant man, his clothes muddied and worn, his close-cropped hair showing a generous helping of salt amidst the pepper. He held a battered cloth hat in his hands and was clutching it like it was his last bit of sanity. Gwaine could hardly blame him for that. Not when Arthur was staring down at the poor man from his seat on the throne with a thunderous set to his features. What the peasant didn't notice, though, what he couldn't notice because he hadn't known Arthur for any length of time, was the gutted look in the king's eyes.

Gwaine had seen that look before, on that horrid day when he'd been the one to tell Arthur that Lucan was dead, and Morgana had taken Merlin. He'd never wanted to see that look again, but there it was. Not as strong, perhaps, but it was there.

"What the hell happened?"

"Henry," Arthur's was the first voice to break the silence after the doors closed behind the knights. It was steady, restrained. Like he was holding back a thunderstorm. "Sir Lancelot and Sir Gwaine were the last members of the court to see Merlin after he left Camelot. Tell them what you have just told us."

"Y-yes, Your M-majesty," Henry bowed his head and glanced back at Gwaine. He was shaking. "I'm but a humble woodcutter, Sire, from near Easthollow. Two nights past, I were making the rounds of my property, on account of there bein' reports of sheep thieves and the like. And I saw a light in a clearing. Seemed just like a bit of the will 'o the wisp, Sire, but there were a strange feel to it, so I went to see what it might be. I've got a family to take care of. Children to keep safe."

"So I crept up to the clearing to see what the light might be, and there were a woman standing there all beautiful and terrifying, and I'd have run away if I could, Sire, and I'm not ashamed to admit it, but it were like I'd grown roots. I couldn't move. And then a young man walks up and greets her. 'Hello, Morgana,' he says, like he's been expecting her there all along."

Gwaine's heart gave an uneasy flutter as Henry licked his lips and went on.

"Now, Sire, I admit. I never seen your sorcerer, Merlin, before in all my life. But I've heard what he looks like- tall and thin, blue-eyed, fair of face and dark of hair. They say he has an air of menace about him, too, like a lone wolf. And that described him alright. And she said his name at the end, too. 'Good-bye, Merlin,' she said, 'I'll see you again'. She also said they'd have to work together. I heard it, Sire, with my own ears. I saw it with my own eyes. The sorcerer's plotting with the witch, the Lady Morgana."

They were too late for the gasps of disbelief. That had come with Henry's first telling of the story. But rumor and gossip didn't like to die at the second telling, or the third or the fifth or the tenth. A story like this would only grow, even beyond the hundredth retelling. The uneasy flutter burst into flame in Gwaine's gut. "That's preposterous!" he burst out. "Merlin would no sooner conspire with Morgana than he would walk into a burning building. There's no man more loyal to Camelot- and to the king- than Merlin."

"Strange that you would speak of his walking into a fire when he was the one who called the fire down on the Amatan army at Blackheath." Pynell's voice was soft as he stepped forward, every eye in the hall shifting to him. "I hear tell that he was in the middle of it, and yet he came through it alive, and with Morgana having escaped. And it was not her first escape, was it?" Pynell's voice rose in volume as he spoke directly to the nobles and the knights who weren't Merlin's allies. "After Morgana attempted to usurp the throne, Sir Lancelot claimed that he and Merlin defeated her in the tower, and yet, she managed to escape in spite of Merlin's powers. Is it not more rational that Merlin allowed her to escape, then clouded the minds of Gaius and Sir Lancelot so they would repeat a story of his choosing?

"He claimed he was unable to save King Uther from the witch's attack, but how do we know the truth of the matter? Is it not as likely that Merlin was conspiring with the witch Morgause to destroy Uther?"

"Enough." Arthur's voice was low and dangerous.

Pynell sketched a bow to him and stepped back into his place among his noble cronies. The murmurings started up again.

"It's awfully convenient that this story comes up when Merlin's not here to defend himself," Gwaine growled.

"And yet the good woodsman has no reason to lie," Pynell shot back. "Or were you in that clearing, too, and are refusing to admit your complicity?"

Elyan's strong grip on his arm was all that kept Gwaine from launching himself at Pynell. "I am no traitor! And neither is Merlin. You're too blinded by ignorance to see past your own-"

"Enough!" This time, the power in Arthur's voice was enough to silence a battlefield. "You are all dismissed for today. Bedivere, see to it that Henry has a room and food brought to him. And set a guard on his door. I'll not have him harmed while he's here. Leon, remain. The rest of you, go." Arthur locked eyes with Pynell until he bowed and slipped out the door, an oily smile on his face.

Leon stayed. Gwaine, Lancelot, and Elyan did, too, though no one bothered to challenge their being there.

There were a few breaths of silence before the explosion came.

"I don't believe it!" Arthur snarled as he flung himself out of the throne and stalked forward, pacing the length of the room before spinning on a heel and turning back. The knights scattered around him, none of them willing to block Arthur's path. Not while he was in this mood. "I won't believe it."

"Sire?" A soft, thin voice echoed from the back of the hall. Gaius had gone out that way with the rest of the council, then come back in. The old physician was pale, his features drawn. "What are you going to do? I cannot believe this of Merlin, but neither do I see why Henry would have a reason to lie."

Arthur folded his arms and looked up at a window for a time. No one spoke. "It's a tangled tale to unwind, and we can't even begin to unravel it until Merlin returns. The story will be all over the city soon, if it isn't already. All we can do now is try to sort out the truth before things get out of hand."

"I think things have already gotten out of hand," Gwaine said. "They got out of hand the moment Pynell spoke up against him. No doubt he's out there right now, turning people's minds against Merlin, just like he always does. He's had it in for Merlin since the beginning, you know this. He-"

"That's enough, Gwaine. I don't believe this any more than you do. Merlin simply wouldn't conspire with Morgana. It's not possible." He turned and looked back at Gwaine, his gaze intent. "How far did you go with him? Not all the way to the Druids' camp I know, but..?"

"Past Easthollow for sure. A mile or so? We were still deep in the forest when we parted ways." Gwaine said. If he were out there, on the trail they'd taken perhaps he would know for sure.

"But there was a moment when he sensed something strange. He shrugged it off, though. Thought he was jumping at shadows," Lancelot said. "Perhaps there was more to it than he thought."

"Perhaps. But we're not going to know until we talk to Merlin himself." Arthur said. He looked back at them, the gutted look gone and replaced with the cold determination they were accustomed to seeing. "He's due back tonight. I doubt anyone would try to harm him as he comes back in, but I'm not willing to risk it. The three of you," Arthur nodded at Gwaine, Lancelot, and Elyan, "Ride out to Easthollow and bring him back. Find him before someone else does."

* * *

 

"Are you sure this is where he left us?" To Gwaine, the trees all looked the same, especially in the evening gloom. They had ridden out while the sun was still high, faithfully retracing their steps and hoping Merlin hadn't taken a different path home. The story of his so-called treachery had indeed made it out into the city, and while most of the common folk didn't give a whit what the nobility did so long as the roads were safe and the harvest came in on time, the three knights received many scowls and disapproving glances from nobles and guardsmen who were perfectly willing to believe in tales of Merlin's treachery. Gwaine ignored them as readily as he brushed aside his friends' jibes about his affection for Lady Linnet.

"Fairly certain. This oak looks familiar, but I could be wrong. Easthollow is back that way, though, and we were on this trail with him." Lancelot tossed a stick aside as he poked around in the underbrush, as though he would be able to find two-day old tracks in the matted weeds.

"Supposing he comes out of the trees back that way?" Elyan gestured behind them, toward the village. "We could be waiting here all night and never know he'd been by."

"Or maybe if you lot were a little quieter, we'd be able to hear him. Not like it's noisy out here." Gwaine said. A swarm of insects chose that moment to start buzzing with a near ear-splitting intensity.

"Maybe he's turned himself invisible. Or flown back to Camelot."

"Fly to Camelot?" Gwaine threw Elyan an irritated look." If he could fly all around the countryside or turn himself into a bird or something like that, why would he have taken his horse in the first place?" Of all the rumors and supposition about Merlin's abilities, that was the one that amused Gwaine the most- that Merlin could fly. "Do you think he just flaps his arms and rises up into the air, or does he hop onto some magical carpet like the tales of the Djinn of Araby?" was the question he asked whenever the notion arose in the tavern late at night, when the lads had had a few too many pints and all their good sense ran out of their ears.

"Fair point."

Something flitted past Gwaine's head. He felt the rush of air as it went by and landed on a tree branch nearby. He caught a glimpse of big yellow eyes and pale feathers. "Hello, pest." He reached out to the little owl- Merlin's owl- to try to coax it out of the tree. It shrank away from his hand and let out a noise that was halfway between a squeak and a cough.

"I don't think that bird is ever going to warm up to you, Gwaine," Lancelot said.

"He knows better," an amused voice said from the shadows between the trees. It was Merlin. He stood just off the road, Altair's reins held loosely in his hands. The gelding stood just behind him, snuffling the sorcerer's shoulder. Even in the gloom Gwaine could see how much two days away had improved Merlin's health. His eyes were brighter, his back was straight, and the weight of the world didn't rest as heavily on those thin shoulders. Gwaine's stomach lurched.

Merlin had gone away to find some little bit of peace, and now they were going to snatch it away from him.

"What are you doing here?" Merlin asked. "Afraid I wouldn't be able to find my own way home? My sense of direction's not that bad."

The knights glanced at each other uneasily, none sure who should start, or how.

Lancelot was the first to try. "Merlin, something's happened-"

"Is Arthur all right?"

Lancelot's faint smile was tinged with fondness. Of course the king's health would be the first thing on Merlin's mind. "Arthur's fine. As are Gwen and Gaius and everyone else. It's not them, Merlin, it's…" He trailed off.

"What is it then?"

"I'm not sure how to say it." Lancelot looked back at Gwaine, as though he were asking for help.

"As plainly as possible, and sooner rather than later." Merlin smiled, but his nerves chased it away.

"I'll tell him if you won't, then," Gwaine growled, then sighed. "There's a woodsman who came to Camelot to have an audience with Arthur. He said he'd been out in the forest the other night, and that he saw a funny light. When he went to investigate, he saw you talking to Morgana. He claims you were conspiring with her, Merlin, and now Pynell's accusing you of treason."

"What? How did-" Merlin turned back into the shadows.

"But it's not true. Pynell's found someone to playact being a woodsman and spin a fine tale of you meeting Morgana out here and plotting with her. He can't back it up, after all. Just wants to drag your name through the mud some more. What other explanation is there?" Gwaine felt like he was babbling, dredging up words to fill up Merlin's silence.

It dragged on for another few breaths. Elyan gave Gwaine a nervous look. "Merlin? It's a lie, isn't it? Tell me it's a lie." Gwaine's voice trembled.

"I didn't know she would be there," Merlin said distractedly, like he wasn't speaking to them at all. "I don't even think she knew she was going to be there, or that I would be there, too. It.." The moonlight glinted darkly in Merlin's eyes.

Gwaine jerked back like he'd taken an arrow to the gut. "It's true, then? You met with Morgana?" His voice started at a low rumble and rose in volume until he was nearly shouting.

Lancelot put a hand on his arm, his fingers digging into Gwaine's elbow to keep him from doing something he might regret later. "Gwaine," he said, his voice like a cool splash of water against Gwaine's hot temper. "Hear him out."

"Right." He look a deep breath and tried to remember that this was Merlin, and in Merlin's world, things weren't always as they appeared to be. Things weren't always straightforward and sensical. Even a meeting with an enemy might not be what it looked like on the surface. No, he decided, this was Merlin. A meeting with Morgana was definitely not what it seemed. "Sorry. It's just…. No. It's not. I'm sorry. Just…. What happened the other night?"

Merlin shifted from where he'd shrunk away from them into the darkness, taking a half-step back into the moonlight. The pale light painted his face with stark shadows, turning his summer-blue eyes into the deepest midnight. "I saw a light," he said, barely above a whisper, "and there was something about it that drew me toward it. Like a moth to the flame. Morgana was there waiting for me. She looked as surprised to see me as I was to see her." He shook his head, a thoughtful line deepening in his brow. "I think she had the same sort of vision that I did, and…I don't know. We should get back to Camelot. Arthur… Does Arthur think I've betrayed him?"

"No," Lancelot answered almost before Merlin had finished the question. "No, he doesn't. He refused to believe what Pynell was suggesting. He has complete faith in you."

Gwaine saw a wet glint in Merlin's eyes before he turned away to climb into Altair's saddle. Yes, of course Arthur had complete faith in Merlin. A faith that Merlin's own friends didn't seem to have. 'Or was it just me who thought he might have turned traitor, even if it was just for a moment?' It was probably just him. Half-witted, wine-soaked Gwaine who always seemed to go off half-cocked. 'Merlin would die before he betrayed Arthur. Or us. I have a lot to make up for. And a lot more to live up to."

Gwaine leapt up into the saddle, holding his horse back until Merlin was next to him. "Merlin. I'm sorry," he said quietly, "I'm an idiot sometimes. I don't want you to think that I don't trust you. I do. More than I trust myself. It's just that my mouth says things before my head can stop it. You know how I am."

"A right idiot now and then," Merlin said, that old, sad smile returning to his face. "Apology accepted."

"Thank you. Now," he gestured for Merlin to move ahead of him, "let's get you home."


	8. Chapter 8

"Any sign of them?"

Leon closed the doors quietly behind him and shook his head. "Nothing yet. I left word with the guardsmen on the western gate to inform us when they return."

Arthur nodded and returned to his pacing. He'd lost count of the number of times he'd completed the circuit from the window to his desk and then across to the table where Guinevere sat. She was running a loop of knotted ribbon round and round through her fingers, her gaze distant, eyes glazed with worry.

He had tried sitting with her, but that hadn't lasted long. There was too much nervous energy running through Arthur's veins to let him stay still. So he paced, counting his own footfalls and looking up at every stray sound, expecting Merlin to be there with an explanation countering the woodsman's accusations. But they'd left midnight behind long ago, and none of the three knights Arthur had sent had returned, nor was there any sign of Merlin.

"What do you intend to do?" Leon asked. He walked toward the table, hands clenching on back of a chair until Guinevere gave him a tight smile and gestured for him to take a seat. "We can't sweep this under the rug like we did when Merlin revealed his magic to us. He's been publicly accused. And Pynell's words didn't help."

"No, they didn't." Arthur yanked the curtain aside from the window and looked out into the darkness once more. He'd been castigating himself all night for not silencing Pynell when the lord first opened his mouth. He'd been so thunderstruck by the allegations, so intent on finding a flaw in Henry's tale that he'd hardly heard Pynell's rant. With Merlin still absent, there was no story to counter Henry's and so Pynell's version was the only one spreading through the city. People believed what they wanted to believe, and like any black rumor, the worst story was the one that spread the fastest.

"It will go to a trial, won't it?" Guinevere's voice shook as she pushed away from the table. "And they'll condemn him for this lie. You know they will. It won't take much for the court to turn against him, especially if Lord Pynell is the one bringing up the accusation. He hates Merlin. He always has, and he has great influence. If he can't persuade the judges to rule against Merlin, he'll try to buy them off. Arthur…" Tears sprang into her eyes "The sentence for treason is…"

' _Death by hanging, drawing, and quartering.'_ Arthur shuddered. "It won't come to that," he said. "I promise. We're going to hear Merlin out when he gets back, and we'll figure out what we're going to do." He reached out to Guinevere and drew her close, wrapping his arms around her waist and burying his nose in her hair when she nestled her head against his chest. Under his fingers, her hair was as soft as the silken blue gown she wore, and more beautiful.

For a moment, Arthur mourned the world and how hard it was, and for the way it ground away at beauty until it was coarse and hard-edged as stone. And for what? For wealth and power? For the perverse joy of destruction?

" _What is your endgame, Pynell?"_ Perhaps Arthur would never understand the grudge Pynell held against Merlin, or why he pursued the sorcerer with such a vengeance. True, there were other men who hated Merlin for what he was, but none who seemed to take such a delight in tearing the younger man down. Like a cat tormenting a mouse, neither letting it go nor killing it outright. " _Will you ever let him be?"_

There was a clattering in the antechamber, and a knock on the door. Guinevere jerked away from Arthur as Lancelot appeared in the shadowed opening. "Sire?"

"Come in." Arthur threw a glance back at Leon, an eyebrow raised. "How did you manage to make it all the way here without our knowing about it?"

"Elyan's taking the horses around to the east gate. The rest of us came in through a tunnel that no one but Merlin seems to know about." In normal circumstances, Lancelot's smile might have been full of fond humor. Tonight, it was nervous thing that hardly reached his eyes before it fled. "We thought it would best to come in quietly, just in case." He opened the door all the way to allow Merlin and Gwaine to enter after him.

"Arthur…" Merlin locked eyes with him. Fear was written on his pale features, though what precisely he was afraid of, Arthur couldn't tell. "I…"

"Sit down," Arthur said, gesturing for the sorcerer to take a seat at the table. Guinevere poured Merlin a cup of wine. Her hands shook when she handed it to him. Arthur pulled out his own chair at the head of the table, its feet scraping dryly against the floor. "You know of what happened at court today?"

Merlin lowered his eyes and nodded. He turned the cup around and around in his hand, the polished metal sending wavering reflections dancing across his face. The warm light flashed like gold in his in his eyes. "They said a woodsman has accused me of treason."

"Yes." Arthur rested his elbows on the table and clasped his hand in front of his face. The oaken surface was solid and somehow comforting. "And you weren't here to defend yourself then, but now you're home. Tell me your side of the story." ' _Tell me it's not true,'_ Arthur pleaded silently. ' _Tell me it's all a lie, that you never met Morgana, and that it's all an elaborate ruse to discredit you.'_

Merlin stopped turning cup around. His fingers tightened around its base, and Arthur saw they were trembling. "You know I would never betray you, Arthur. Don't you?" He looked up at the king, eyes wide, afraid of what might happen next.

"I know that."

Relief flashed across Merlin's face. He looked away again, gaze returning to the cup in his hands. The room was eerily silent as everyone waited to hear Merlin's next words. "I did meet with Morgana."

Arthur pushed back at the fire blooming in his gut. "And?" His voice was low and dangerous.

Merlin flinched, his hands tightening around the cup as he cringed away from Arthur. His eyes flicked up, searching the edges of the room for concealing shadows. He hunched his shoulders, making himself a little smaller, less noticeable. He showed the same 'don't look at me' tics he practiced when he was among crowds, exposed, and worried that some small trigger might set them against him without warning.

Arthur let out a long, slow breath and berated himself for his reaction. Was he as faithless as Pynell, to judge the surface of the matter without bothering to scratch to see what was underneath? This was Merlin, after all, who had told him nothing but the straight, sometimes uncomfortable truth since Arthur had asked it of him more than a year ago. Surely there was more to this matter than there seemed to be, brimming with the same strange, gray logic that overflowed within Merlin.

"I'm sorry, Merlin. Just tell me what happened out there."

Merlin's answering nod was a jerky one. "I-" He stopped and cleared his throat, taking a sip of wine to wet his lips. "I didn't go out there to meet Morgana. I had no idea she would be there. Why would I? Would you expect your greatest enemy to just show up while you're out on a hunt?" He finally met the king's gaze, his eyes wide and begging for Arthur to believe him. "It wasn't a deliberate meeting. But we weren't there by chance, either.

"It had something to do with that vision I had some weeks back. She had a similar one, where waves from the east were crashing down over the Five Kingdoms. We sort of… shared a prophecy between us, like there were parts each of us had to hear so we could know what we needed to do…" Merlin shook his head. His voice dropped until it was just above a whisper. "Darkness and light. Broken alliances will be re-forged." One corner of his mouth quirked up in a wry grin.

Arthur glanced up at Guinevere as though she would have the answers for Merlin's strangeness. She just shrugged, as baffled as Arthur was. "What are you talking about?"

"The light only shines in the darkness," Merlin's wry half-grin grew into a full smile. "And you can't find the truth without hearing both sides of the story. That must be why we were brought together. We wouldn't be able to even hear to whole prophecy by ourselves. It must have been a sending from all the gods, not just one or two." His whole demeanor changed, his back straightening, eyes shining again. "Of course. It's like any riddle. Once you solve it, you feel like an idiot for not understanding it in the first place."

"I'm still not understanding you, Merlin," Arthur said.

Merlin half-dropped the cup on the table, ignoring the wine that splashed onto his fingers, shining there like drops of fresh blood. "The gods talk to us, Arthur, to me and to Morgana, but not all the gods talk to both of us. But on that night, for that prophecy, all of them had to be heard, so both of us had to be in one place."

Arthur disliked the fervent light in Merlin's eyes. It edged too close to something like madness. "All right," he said, his voice even. "Write it down for me later. What we need to do now is figure out what we're going to do about the charges the court is leveling against you, Merlin. I can't undo what was done today, and I can't just sweep this under the rug without people crying out that I'm showing favoritism where you're concerned. Or worse." Arthur spread his hands out flat on the table. "For some, it would confirm their suspicions that you've laid some sort of spell on me."

The mad light in Merlin's eyes dimmed and turned fearful. "But there's nothing I can do to counter it. I  _did_  meet Morgana. And while I can say I'm not a traitor 'til I'm blue in the face, there's only my word against this woodsman's. I can tell you now who they're going to believe, Arthur, and it won't be me."

He couldn't meet Merlin's eyes. He felt like he'd failed his friend somehow. A king's opinion should have swayed the people better than this. "No, you're probably right. Not if things stay as they are." Arthur pushed away from the table and paced back to the window.

It was quiet outside, as it should have been at this hour. He could see the lights in the towers, the torches held by guards as they walked their rounds, and the firelight and lanterns in the buildings that edged the courtyard. All of it so peaceful, and so different from the mood in his own chambers. Arthur wondered if Pynell was sleeping comfortably tonight and decided that, yes, he was.

He glanced at the window itself, saw the reflection of the others there. They were all looking at him, all wavery and ephemeral in the glass. Except for shadowy Merlin, who was studying his hands. They were waiting for him to speak, to give them some sort of plan to defeat this, or at least for some direction, but Arthur had nothing for them.

Or did he?

" _I'm looking at this all wrong."_

He'd heard of politics being compared to a battlefield, had seen the nobles "ambush" their opponents with verbal attacks or damaging gossip that should have remained private. Having grown up amidst all that, Arthur had thought it was normal. When he'd seen actual combat and tasted the coppery tang of terror in his throat and felt the spray of blood on his face, the metaphor hadn't seemed so apt.

But it could be. In politics, as in war, each side had its allies and its spies, planned attacks, and refused to admit defeat until all was lost. So this was a battle, then, and they were already acting like everything was over when it was far from it.

' _Right. I have my weapons. I should use them.'_

He spun to face them all, already hating himself for what he was about to say. "Merlin?" The sorcerer jumped, his eyes wide. "I don't want to do this, but I don't see a way around it. I think we bent the laws for you as much as we could get away with last year, before magic was legal. We can't do that again. Not with the court staring us down." Arthur took a breath and steeled his resolve. "For the time being, Merlin, you are confined to your chambers. There are some who would want you locked in the dungeons, but I won't allow that."

"Arthur-"

He raised a hand to forestall Merlin's objections. "You've been slandered, Merlin, I know. But in these circumstances, every step we take has to be perfectly above board. Not even the king is above the law in Camelot, and we must been seen to be following it to the letter. You understand, don't you?" Merlin's shoulders sagged and he looked down at this hands, but he nodded. "Pynell and his allies will want their own agent watching over you, as well, to ensure we're not trying to spirit you away before a trial can go forward. I'm going to assign that task to Sir Bedivere. He's been in the south these past few years, and he fought alongside Pynell when they took Tintagel."

From his place into the shadows, Gwaine sputtered a protest. Lancelot clapped him upside the head to keep him from saying more, and Arthur shot him a grateful look.

"So I'm to be confined and watched over like I'm some sort of exotic creature in a menagerie, then?" Merlin's jaw clenched like he was holding back a host of spiteful comments. Arthur did his best to ignore how every candle flared at once. "Fine, then. May as well get it over with." He put his cup down with an exaggerated calm and pushed his chair back from the table, arms braced against its surface like it was the only thing holding him up. He looked away, eyes flitting from the floor to the wall and back again. Anywhere except at the other people in the room.

"Merlin, look at me," Arthur said. Merlin paused, his shoulders tense and shaking slightly. But he finally turned at met Arthur's gaze. There was a wounded look in his eyes, and the faint tinge of betrayal. "You are innocent of these charges. I know it. Everyone in this room knows it. I can't stop these proceedings from going forward, but I will do everything in my power to make sure justice- true justice- is served, and that you are cleared of all wrongdoing. Do you believe me?"

Merlin's shoulders sagged, and a little of the hurt drained from his face. "Yes, I suppose I do."

It wasn't a resounding endorsement of Arthur's words, but it would do. "Good. Now go on. Get some rest. We should all do that, in fact. We'll need it for what's coming." He looked over at Lancelot and Gwaine and nodded for them to go with Merlin. "I'll send Sir Bedivere along in the morning."

When they'd gone, Arthur sank back into his chair.

"I hope you have some sort of a plan to deal with this," Leon asked.

"I have the beginnings of one," Arthur said. He picked at a splinter of wood sticking out of the tabletop. It was an old thing, this table. Older than Arthur, certainly. It had been sitting in this spot for as long as he could remember, and he'd been living in these chambers his entire life. He'd have to tell George to take extra care with it.

"Did you just assign one of Lord Pynell's agents to watch Merlin?" The quiet outrage in Guinevere's voice shook Arthur out of his reverie. From set of her eyes and her curled lip, Arthur might as well have presented her with a basket full of snakes.

"That's how it looks on the surface," Arthur said.

"But not how it truly is." Leon chuckled. "It's true that Bedivere has been riding with Pynell for most of the past year, but he's been one of Arthur's agents in the south for a long time. He's the one who sent us the news about Tintagel and a host of other events. Hasn't managed to uncover the extent of Pynell's plans, but…" Leon shrugged. "Even a high-born knight isn't privy to everything his lord says."

"With Bedivere there, we'll be able to feed Pynell whatever information we like, and possibly keep him from finding out things I'd rather he didn't know. You're surprised by this?" A slow grin stole across Arthur's face at Guinevere's expression. Her eyebrows had risen high up on her forehead, and the sparkle had returned to her eyes. "I'm not a complete idiot, you know."

"I know that!" She punched his arm just hard enough to let him know she wasn't pleased to have been left out of the secret. "But I'd like to know these things before they happen. Is  _this_ ," she threw a hand out to indicate their current situation, "something you've been planning for, or did the pieces just fall right?"

"A little bit of both," Arthur admitted. "Leon and I have been sending our own agents out across Camelot to keep an eye on things and report back any strange occurrences. We've managed to ward off minor problems before they blossomed to become some great threat. I just wish we could have caught this before it happened."

Guinevere reached out and caught his hand, her slender fingers closing around it. "I don't think anyone could have. It was just bad luck that the woodsman was out there and saw it happen."

"Bad luck…"

"You don't think it was?" Leon asked.

"It must have been. Sheer, wretched, awful luck," Arthur sighed. "There's something that doesn't sit right with me about this situation, but I can't put my finger on it."

"Only one thing?" Guinevere said.

"You know what I mean."

"Well, we're not going to get any further on it if we keep worrying at it like a dog after a bone," Leon said. "Tomorrow will bring a fresh perspective. I know I need to sleep. I'll go now so your Majesties can do the same."

"Good night, Leon." Guinevere smiled at the knight as he bowed and disappeared out the door, closing it as quietly as he could behind him. The latch rattled anyway. Another thing to have George look after. Arthur sighed again.

"Do you really think we can beat this?" Guinevere asked after a while. The smile had fled from her face and the worry returned to her eyes.

Arthur wished there was something he could do to chase her fears away, but his own were too well rooted in his own gut to even begin to try. Still, he wanted to try. "Yes. We have to. I-" He broke off, unable to complete the phrase, ' _I need him too much to fail.'_

Guinevere understood without needing him to give voice to it. "I know. I need him, too."


	9. Chapter 9

Arthur rose before dawn the next morning. His restless mind wouldn't let him stay asleep any longer, so instead of trying to fight it, he gave up. He fumbled around in the darkness for a while until he found suitable clothes for the day and dressed. Guinevere slept through it all. It was a trait he admired in her, his queen's ability to put her worries aside, if only for a little while, and see to her own needs so she didn't end up as useless as Arthur sometimes felt when the kingdom's troubles mounted.

He brushed a strand of hair away from her face and tugged the covers back over her shoulder, taking a moment to watch her sleep before heading out, closing the door quietly behind him as the first light of dawn peeked between the curtains.

The castle was already bustling with activity. Servants hurried about, taking food and clothing to their respective masters while the guards on the night shift traded places with those keeping watch during the day. Arthur tried to be inconspicuous. It didn't work out as well as he would have liked, but no one stopped him on his way to the library.

He had expected to find Geoffery there already, hunched over his desk and squinting over one ancient manuscript or another, but the old man wasn't there yet. Arthur settled in to wait, brushing a finger across the spines of a shelf's worth of leather-bound books, breathing in the scent of old dust and parchment. It was quiet in the library. Few bothered to venture in here under Geoffrey's watchful eye. He might be an old man and a scholar besides, but Geoffrey of Monmouth had a way of looming over people with a disapproving look that rivaled Gaius's.

"Sire?"

Arthur spun about at the sound of the librarian's voice. "Geoffrey" he said, trying to pretend the old man hadn't startled him.

"Can I help you, Sire?" Geoffrey set a thick volume down on a table, sending a puff of dust up into the air.

"Yes." Arthur cleared his throat and braced his hands against Geoffrey's desk. "You were at court yesterday. You heard the charges that were laid against Merlin." It was a statement of fact, not a question, and Geoffrey simply nodded. "Merlin returned last night and told me his side of the story. I wish I could say that he disproved the woodsman's tale, but-". Arthur pursed his lips and shook his head. He wished for a lot more than being able to prove the woodsman wrong, but he wasn't going to get it. Not by wishing, at any rate. "He did meet with Morgana. But it wasn't to plan treachery."

Geoffrey's eyebrows rose, but whether it was because of Arthur's confirmation of the rumors or the vehemence in his voice, Arthur couldn't tell. "And what does Your Majesty want me to do about it?"

"Merlin said there was a prophecy involved. Something about the old gods needing both of them there to reveal it. I'll admit that I don't understand it. The ways of gods are beyond me, but that's not the point," Arthur said. "Merely meeting with an enemy does not make a man a traitor any more than picking up a sword makes a man a soldier. What I want from you, Geoffrey, is to find precedent somewhere in these old tomes."

"Sire?"

"There was a time when magic wasn't feared in the Five Kingdoms. Once, the kings of Camelot looked to the wisdom of the Old Religion for guidance. I know many records were destroyed during the Great Purge, but surely everything wasn't lost." Arthur looked the old librarian square in the eye, holding the other's gaze until Geoffrey was practically squirming.

"Ah… No, Sire. Not everything was lost. Many records were consigned to the flames, yes, but…" Geoffrey trailed off and looked away, a blush rising to stain his wrinkled face. "Many of the books and scrolls were old and unique. Objects of great beauty and value. I couldn't let them be destroyed. There is nothing evil in knowledge, Sire. Only in what men do with it. And with no sorcerers left, keeping them locked up and hidden away seemed harmless enough."

Arthur grinned. "It was bravely done, Geoffrey. If my father had discovered what you'd done, you would have faced a terrible punishment. Few would have dared that for the sake of a few books."

"For knowledge, Sire." Geoffrey looked up at him at last, a small smile lighting his face. "Knowledge is a treasure greater than gold or jewels. If we forget what has gone before us, how can we ensure that we don't make the same mistakes again?"

"You're right, of course," Arthur said, wondering at his good fortune, that so many brave and wise souls had ended up in his service. "And another mistake is what I'm trying to prevent. What I need from you, Geoffrey, is the knowledge that you kept safe. I know that the Old Religion had its factions, just as the court here does. I also know that even my father had a Priestess for an advisor, once."

"Nimueh, yes. It was her actions that caused the break between you father and the Old Religion-"

"I know the bargain Uther struck with Nimueh, Geoffery," Arthur said. Merlin had told him as much, and Morgause had too, in her own way. They'd told him how Uther had made a bargain with the Priestess to give him the son and heir he craved, and that it had cost Igraine her life. What they hadn't said, that Arthur had realized later, was that by acting on his own grief and thirst for vengeance, Uther had turned on the very people who had given him what he'd asked for. "My father's failings are not the issue here. What I need from you is a precedent."

"Sire?"

"Merlin and Morgana both have visions of the future," Arthur said. "They see.. riddles, I suppose, that don't make any sense until the events they foresaw have happened. Surely they're not the first oracles who have ever been in Camelot. And I cannot believe that in the whole history of the Five Kingdoms, there was never a prophecy that seemed to speak of treachery at first, but was later shown to be nothing of the sort. Last winter, Merlin thought his visions were foretelling his death, but they turned out to reveal the way to save him." In truth, those visions had spoken of both outcomes, but Arthur was willing to grasp at any straw that fell his way.

Geoffrey's brow knit, and he looked away from Arthur toward the rows of books. "I will do my best, Sire, though there is a lot of information to sort through. I don't know if there is anything left to find. And if there is, I may not find it in time."

Arthur rested a hand on the old librarian's shoulder before turning to go. "Do your best, Geoffrey. That's all I ask."


	10. Chapter 10

"What is that you're reading?"

Merlin looked up from the page and squinted through the shadows. Bedivere was perched at the table, a whetstone in hand and a brace of daggers laid out in front of him. He didn't know if the knight was trying to intimidate him, but the quiet  _scrich_  of blades being sharpened was a sound so familiar that Merlin had hardly noticed it. Really, there was nothing he found intimidating about Bedivere. Not the crooked nose that spoke of too many fistfights or the unmatching eyes- one a muddy brown, the other an icy blue - that gave the man an unhinged look. Not even his height, nearly half a head taller than Merlin, gave the sorcerer pause. No, Merlin didn't find Bedivere either intimidating or irritating, regardless of how Bedivere might want to be seen. It was the fact that he was there, that even after all this time, the people of Camelot were still willing to believe the worst of him.

But what stung the most was that  _Arthur_  had ordered his confinement. For a moment, Arthur had doubted his loyalty. Merlin had seen it in his eyes, that flicker of doubt and a spark of anger when it seemed the king's faith in his servant was wavering, shaken by an enemy's allegations.

He was trying to put it all out of his mind.

And Bedivere was still looking at him, waiting for an answer.

Merlin sighed and turned the page. "It's a book," he said, hoping the knight would lose interest in him and go back to sharpening the daggers.

"Aye, I see it's a book. I'm not stupid," Bedivere said, giving Merlin a flat stare made disconcerting by his oddly-hued eyes. "What sort of book?"

"An ancient history of the Five Kingdoms. Why? Are you going to report back all my doings to your master?" Merlin couldn't bring himself to even say Pynell's name. "Last I'd checked, history wasn't a forbidden subject."

"You think I want to be here any more than you do?" Bedivere snorted and shoved the daggers back into their worn sheaths. "On a fine summer's day like this, when I'm finally back in Camelot proper? There's a tavern I haven't seen the inside of in the better part of five years and a couple of barmaids who might still remember me fondly. And where am I? Stuck in here, watching you read books like this." He poked at one of the volumes Merlin had left on the table earlier. "Leefur du Carefeerden? What's that supposed to be?"

Merlin gave him a blank look. "What?"

"This." The knight held up a thick book whose cover had once been black, but was turning gray with age and wear. Warm spots of light reflected off embossed gold lettering, revealing the book's identity.

" _Llyfr Du Caerfyrddin_?" Merlin asked.

"If that's what the title's supposed to say. It's gibberish to me." Bedivere put the book down but didn't move his hand away. He traced the flaking gold on the cover and the the empty spots where jewels had once decorated it. "What's it about?"

Merlin sighed and marked his page. Apparently this was going to be an ongoing conversation and not a single, idle query. He leaned back in the window seat and shifted so he could see the knight without cranking his neck around so much. "It's an old book of prophecy, if you must know. It belongs to Gaius."

"A book of prophecy? Shouldn't this have been destroyed in the purge?" Bedivere's fingers pulled away from the book as though he was afraid it was going to come alive and bite him.

"Well, it's hardly my fault the knights of Camelot couldn't find a book in a library, now is it?" Merlin snapped, ignoring how Bedievere's lips quirked upward into a wry grin.

Merlin loved books and the knowledge they held. He had been grateful for Gaius's ability to squirrel forbidden tomes away before Uther could burn them. But that particular book, the  _Llyfr Du Caerfyrddin,_  always sent shivers down his spine when he thought too hard about it. It was a book of prophecies, so it should have been helpful. But they were prophecies that spoke of a man who was destined to end his days wandering through the forest as a madman. The description of the man was far too much like Merlin for his own comfort. Even the name was similar.  _Myrddin..._

He had put it away on a high, lonely shelf in the hope that he and Gaius would forget about it. He must have grabbed it by mistake this morning when he'd raided Gaius's collection in search of some reference that would lead him to the identity of the Summer Country. Of all the things he and Morgana had prophesied, the mention of that land troubled him the most. Neither he nor Gaius had ever heard of it. So far Merlin hadn't found it listed in any of the books in their chambers.

Perhaps if he could go to the library, he would find the Summer Country listed in a crumbling history book or drawn on an old map. But that would have to wait for friendlier days.

Assuming he wasn't executed or exiled first.

"You're a strange man, sorcerer." Bedivere rose from the table and stepped away from the shrinking patch of sunlight, moving deeper into the shadows. Merlin tracked his movements by the soft scrape of boots against the floor. He walked slowly, strolling through the room like he wanted to memorize every detail. Past the table of jars of herbs and medicines and away, nearly to the door to Merlin's room then back again, coming to a halt just outside the little puddle of sunlight. He kept himself where he could see Merlin, but Merlin would hardly be able to see him.

"I have a name."

"Aye, you do. They call you all sorts of things out there. Sorcerer. That they spit out like they're talking about a nest of vipers. Arthur's Shadow. I've always heard you called that, even before the magic business. Not sure why." Merlin saw Bedivere's outline as he leaned against the wall and heard the faint creak of well-worn leather and the rustle of linen sleeves.

"Probably because I had to follow Arthur everywhere. A servant doesn't always get called by his proper name," Merlin said. He opened the book again, turning his gaze back to the pages in a bid to ignore Bedivere.

The knight persisted. "There are some who call you catamite."

Merlin's fingers twitched against the book's spine. He kept his face impassive. "And there are some who will repeat any lie they like." He glared up at Bedivere as best he could, still only able to pick out his outline and the whites of his eyes. "Is there a purpose to this, or are you always an insufferable ass?"

Bedivere laughed. "Peace, little brother," he said, his tone bordering on mockery. "I'm only trying to figure out what sort of man you are. In the south, far away from here, we hear the most fantastical tales. Can you really fly?"

"If I could, do you think I'd stay in here with you?"

"I think if you meant to leave, you'd have been gone by now. But I'll take that as a 'no'." Bedivere hooked a chair with a foot and pulled it toward the light. With a careless flip of his shaggy hair, the knight flopped down, stretched his legs out, and rested one booted foot on the opposite end of Merlin's bench. "They say you nearly burned Blackheath to the ground. Is that true?"

"Is this your roundabout way of interrogating me? Trying to find out if I've committed some great crime that I should be hanged for?" Merlin glared in the knight's direction. Bedivere was still in the shadows. The contrast between light and dark made him hard to see. But there was a way to take care of that, and with his already frayed temper threatening to break, his magic was rising, unbidden. " _Leoht_ ," he whispered.

Every candle in the room flared to life and a globe of pale blue appeared in Merlin's hand. With a flick of the wrist, he sent the ball to float above Bedivere's head, bathing him with cool light. The knight went cross-eyed as he stared up at the little orb, destroying unflappable air he was trying to give off.

"What's the matter? Don't like the light?" Merlin asked, trying- and failing- to keep a grin from tugging at his lips.

The discombobulated look fell away from Bedivere's face as he scowled back at Merlin. "The light's fine. It's the magic that's weird. Suppose I should be glad you didn't set me ablaze." He settled back into the chair. "So what's the truth about Blackheath, then? That was the wildest of all the tales. They say you set fire to the castle and opened up the skies to summon lightning and thunder loud enough to make the ground shake. They say every crow within ten miles of that castle fell out of the sky, dead. They also say you died and came back to life at Arthur's call."

A chill raced down Merlin's spine at the last. It was the vaguest of pale recollections, that moment when he'd seen the Cailleach's face and turned away at the last, drawn away from her by a clarion call he could neither resist nor put a name to. He wet his lips and stilled his trembling fingers. He hadn't put his half-gloves on that morning, and with his sleeves rolled up the scarring on his wrists was plain to be seen. Merlin looked away. "You'll have to ask someone else who was there. They tortured me for days and then burned me alive. My own memories of that battle are fragmentary at best."

He let it stand at that, and the quiet lengthened between them. Merlin wasn't sure what unnerved Bedivere- his answer, the stories he'd heard about Merlin's abilities, or the way the silence held out against the outside noises that should have filtered into the room. Whatever it was, Bedivere pulled his feet off the bench and shifted in the chair. The old wooden joints creaked like it was about to fall apart beneath him. The knight let out a long breath, shaking at first, then smooth. "You're a strange man, Merlin."

He bit back the sour comment that had been ready to fall from his lips. Bedivere's tone had been conciliatory. Merlin could at least not act like a bratty child in return. "So I've been told."

He managed to read another half-page before Bedivere spoke again. "They say you can see the future. Is that part true?"

"That part is true," Merlin sighed. It seemed the day was not fated to be a day for learning. He set the book aside, careful not to vent his frustration on the delicate pages. He looked up at Bedivere and was surprised by what he saw. The knight leaned forward in his chair, elbows on his knees with his head tilted like a curious puppy's. Under his dark thatch of sun-streaked hair, there was only curiosity in his mismatched eyes.

' _Not a day for learning. But perhaps it can be a day for teaching.'_

He leaned back against the bench and drew his knees to his chest, wrapping his arms loosely around his shins. "What is it you want to know, then?"

"About what?" Bedivere's eyes widened.

"About magic," Merlin said. "Or whatever it is you're trying to dance around without bothering to say it. You're too tall to dance gracefully, and since you've already called me a freak among other things, you've done enough to insult me. We're both still here, alive and well, and we're going to be here for a while. You might as well get it off your chest."

Bedivere sat up, his back straightening against the chair's worn wood. His mouth opened, closed, then opened again, but no words came out. He brought a hand up to his face and pinched the bridge of his nose before scrubbing a hand through his hair. "I fought alongside Pynell at Tintagel last winter. The men we were fighting, the sorcerers, they fought like demons. Summoned flames out of the air and threw the men off the walls like they were brushing dust off a shelf. Our men died by the score, and still Pynell ordered us forward. Up the ladders, though they flung fire at us. Battering the gates despite the tree roots that rose up to catch the men's feet. And we fought on, in the rain and snow and blood, with the ground turning to mud beneath us. It was like fighting something out of a nightmare." Bedivere looked away, his eyes haunted.

"I don't know when the battle turned in our favor, what it was that allowed us to overrun them at last," the knight continued. "But by day's end we'd retaken the keep. When the final count was taken, they'd had just under two hundred warriors to our three thousand." Bedivere bit his lip and glanced back up at Merlin. "The old gods are real, aren't they?"

"Yes, they are." Merlin held the knight's gaze and smiled. "Did you think your one god was the only one out there?" Bedivere swallowed, but didn't answer. "The world is a bigger place than we can imagine, full of strange people and even stranger beliefs. But how are any of us to know if all gods aren't actually the same?"

"Then you're not trying to convert Arthur to the Old Religion?"

Merlin laughed. "No. Certainly not," he said, waving an apologetic hand at Bedivere. The knight's expression had grown stormy in the face of Merlin's mirth. "Sorry. I only know my own path, Bedivere. I think it would be arrogant of me to think that I could point anyone toward some greater truth."

"But these gods, they speak to you, don't they?"

"Through me." Merlin's voice was soft. "Like on a still summer's day, when you only know there was a breeze because the wind chimes rang. That's all I am. A voice in the wind. A tool of the gods. It's not a comfortable thing to be."

Bedivere leaned back in his chair. There was a thoughtful look on his face. "There are many who crave the sort of power you have."

"Truly? I wouldn't wish it on anyone. Look where it's gotten me. I am hated and feared by people all across the realm. I have been tortured and nearly executed for having magic. And even though I have Arthur's favor, he has ordered me to be confined because I have been accused of treachery. Why would any man want this life?" In that moment, Merlin wished more than anything that he could be back in the forest with the Druids, listening to Niniane sing. "If I were other than who I am, I would be far happier."

"Then why do you stay?"

"Because my place is with Arthur. Just as yours is," Merlin said.

Bedivere looked down at his hands. "I have to admit it, Merlin. You're not at all what I expected you to be."

" And you, Sir Bedivere, are not what I expected."


	11. Chapter 11

If only they could convince Gaius to take up chambers in the royal wing, Arthur wouldn't have to climb so many stairs so often. It wasn't that he objected to the exercise. It just took so long. But the physician had been in these rooms for more than thirty years. Nothing short of a disaster or a miracle was going to make him move.

He knocked twice before letting himself in. The room was quiet. Arthur thought it was empty at first, then he saw Merlin perched on the bench under the window with a book at his side. Bedivere sat nearby with a thoughtful look on his face. Then he noticed the king and rose, unfolding his too-tall frame as awkwardly as a stork. He was, Arthur knew, only graceful in combat.

"Sire," Bedivere nodded to Arthur, nearly knocking his head against the stairs above him.

Arthur waved him off. "I'd like to speak to Merlin alone, Bedivere. Wait outside."

"Sire?"

"You heard me. Out," Arthur said flatly. Bedivere might have been absent from Camelot the last several years, but his ability to be an utter pain in the ass wasn't new. He was enough like Gwaine that Arthur shuddered at the thought of their being in the same room together. Sending them to opposite sides of the kingdom was tempting, but he banished the notion from his mind. If he let himself entertain it for too long he'd be tempted to actually do it, and no matter how irritating they were, both Gwaine and Bedivere were good at what they did. If they could just learn to keep their mouths shut, Arthur wouldn't want to smack them upside the head so often. It was easy enough to do to Gwaine, but Bedivere was too damn tall to make it worth the effort. "Just wait outside," Arthur said as the knight flashed him a toothy grin and departed.

"So." Arthur turned back to face Merlin when silence fell over the room again. He crossed the distance and dropped down into the chair Bedivere had abandoned. Merlin's eyes were bright when he looked at Arthur. He seemed calm, more at peace with himself than he'd been for a while. "How was your holy day in the woods?"

"I almost wish I were back there again," Merlin said, uncurling a little from his seat on the bench. His feet were bare, the scarf gone from around his neck, and the ever present half-gloves were missing from his hands. He almost looked vulnerable without them, with so many of his scars so plain to be seen. "There was good wine and music, and the greatest living bard sang and recited stories from the epic tales of old. He sang beautifully." Merlin relaxed against the wall with his arms loosely crossed in front of him. A faint smile graced his face.

"The greatest living bard? Well. We'll have to invite him here, then," Arthur said. He leaned back in the chair, hooking the heel of his boot on one of the rungs. It was good to see Merlin happy again, and smiling.

"Somehow I doubt Aneirin would be willing to spend a season at court, but I can put the question to him." The light in Merlin's eyes turned melancholy when he looked back up at Arthur. "Why do I get the feeling that you're ready to forbid me from ever leaving Camelot for a holy day again?"

"Given what's happened in the past year, it's crossed my mind," Arthur said. "But you're not a servant. You're a free man and you have every right to practice your faith as you choose."

"But I am a servant," Merlin countered, "or else why would I be here?"

Arthur chuckled and shook his head. "I am not about to argue rhetoric with you. I've heard enough of that from Geoffrey and Gaius today." He'd spent another two hours in the library that morning, fetching books and scrolls for the old librarian and poring over ancient texts to find some sort of precedent to strengthen Merlin's case. He'd likely still be there, except Leon had brought reports newly arrived from the east, where Rheged's troops were harrying Camelot's troops along the ridge of Ascetir. King Uriens' second son, Accolon, was leading his men in a series of ever more daring raids further and further into Camelot. If the defenses at the border couldn't repel Accolon's troops, it was going to come to war.

"Is that where Gaius is, then? In the library? I've been wondering. And speaking of texts," Merlin scrubbed a hand through his hair and rolled to his feet. He padded to his room and disappeared for a moment, returning with a scrap of parchment in his hand. "You said you wanted me to write down the prophecy Morgana and I spoke. Here it is." Merlin held it out to Arthur. His hands only shook a little.

Arthur unfolded it, his eyes taking in the lines of Merlin's precise writing and the strange warning within the words:

 

" _A day without a sun, and the sea rising over the mountains  
_ _to wash over the land, bringing war and sorrow and death in its wake,  
_ _And that hour will be Albion's darkest,  
_ _a time when the sword shall be called forth from the stone,  
_ _and broken alliances will be reforged.  
_ _Old powers, once lost, shall be awakened.  
_ _From the storm-tossed towers of the Isle of the Blessed  
_ _to the shores and the deepening mists of the Summer Country.  
_ _Then will mark the rise of the Once and Future King.  
_ _All must unite, else all will be lost,  
_ _and night will lay upon Albion for a thousand years."_

 

"Do the people of the Old Religion speak in anything but riddles?" Arthur asked once he'd read the prophecy through twice. It hadn't made any more sense the second time than it had the first.

"That's how it always seems to be." Merlin had curled back up on the bench, his knees drawn up his his chest, and hands clasped around his shins. Despite the sunlight pouring through the window above him, shadows seemed to be clinging to the sorcerer.

"Do you know what any of this means?" Arthur asked.

"I think I understand parts of it."

"I don't care for the bit about the Isle of the Blessed, especially if Morgana's involved." Arthur refolded the parchment and tucked it into the pocket of his trousers. "Do you know what the Summer Country is?" he asked. Merlin's reticence was piquing Arthur's curiosity, and if he had to get the answers one at a time like picking threads from a tapestry, then so be it.

"I don't know. I was hoping to search through the books and maps in the library but," Merlin trailed off and shrugged his shoulders. "That doesn't seem likely to happen now."

"It will pass. We'll figure out a way out of this somehow. I promise." Arthur forced what confidence he could into his voice.

Eyes closed, Merlin rested his head against the wall. He was silent for a while, and Arthur wondered if he had fallen asleep. He wondered a lot of things about Merlin, like what went on in that strange mind, and what exactly it was that kept him in Camelot despite all the terrible things that had happened to him. He seemed so unhappy so often, and as powerful as his magic was he could leave any time he wanted to. ' _Why do you stay?'_ Arthur wanted to ask. "Who is this 'Once and Future King' who is supposed to rise?" he said instead.

Merlin tilted his head toward Arthur. An intense light shone his eyes. "That part I do know. You are the Once and Future King."

Arthur rocked back in his chair. The words resonated in his head like a great bell had been rung inside his skull and the reverberations were still bouncing around. He brushed a hand over his eyes. "What does that mean? And how am I supposed to rise when I'm already king?"

"I don't know," Merlin said. "I don't have any answers for you, Arthur. The Gods don't give them to me any more than they give them to you. I'm just a messenger. If I had any answers at all, I'd have figured out a way out of this…" he waved a hand in the air to indicate his current, precarious situation. "But I don't. So here I'll stay until you send me away again." Merlin stood up once more and drifted further into the room. He pulled a kettle from its spot over the fire and brought it back to the table.

"Why would I send you away?"

Merlin didn't look up from the herbs he was mixing into two mugs of water. "Because if this trial ends the way I expect it to, I will be convicted of a crime for which the sentence is death. You'll be able to cite what happened the last time someone tried to execute me and use that example to commute the sentence from death to exile."

"You don't seem to have much faith in the courts."

Merlin glanced over his shoulder to give Arthur a pained look. "If you were in my shoes, would you?"

"You're not wearing any shoes," Arthur said. The joke fell flat. Merlin just shook his head.

"There are a lot of people in Camelot who'd seize on any chance to get rid of me," he said. "The idea that I'm some sort of traitor suits them very well, I'm sure." He came back to the window and handed Arthur a steaming mug. The scent was bright and clear, like rain on an early spring morning. "But enough of that. I can't change the outcome, so it seems pointless to keep obsessing over it. I, uh, I have something to ask of you. It's a favor. For one of the Druids. She… well. She wants to come to Camelot."

There was something in Merlin's voice that gave Arthur an odd shiver of foreboding, but the brightness in his eyes contradicted it, leaving the king baffled. "Why would a Druid want to come to Camelot? And why is her coming here a favor you need to ask? The Druids are free to come and go as they please. I just assumed they preferred to stay in the woods."

"Well." Merlin sipped his tea, and Arthur could have sworn a faint blush rose on Merlin's cheeks. It was gone by the time he put the mug down. "She wants to do a little more than just come to Camelot. She wants to be one of Gwen's ladies-in-waiting."

"A Druid asked, out of the blue, to be a lady-in-waiting to the Queen of Camelot?" Arthur stared at him, dumbfounded, until he tipped his mug over and spilled hot tea on his hand. He winced and shook it off his hand. "Why?"

"She has visions from time to time. They're about as helpful as mine." Merlin rolled his eyes at that. "But she had one some weeks back that showed her she needed to be in Camelot for some reason. Iseldir believes her, and I have every reason to trust him."

' _As do I_.' Arthur remembered the man, and what he'd done for them. "I can speak to Guinevere about it. What's this girl's name?"

"Niniane."

He didn't miss the spark of happiness that lit in Merlin's eyes. "I know that name. Why do I know that name?" Arthur asked.

"She was one of the healers who came to Blackheath to..." Merlin trailed off, his gaze falling to his hands and the marbled scars circling his wrists.

"Heal you," Arthur finished the sentence for him. "There were two girls, weren't there? One was shy and the other had green eyes, I think?"

He would have missed Merlin's smile if he hadn't been looking for it. "Niniane's the green-eyed girl," he said. There was the foreboding note again, hanging in the air like the memory of a crow's call, then gone again. But the light remained in the sorcerer's eyes. Whoever Niniane was, Merlin wanted her there.

"I'll talk to Guinevere about it tonight," Arthur said.

"Thank you. I told her the answer might be 'no', but I promised her I'd ask."

"And now you have," Arthur said. He glanced around, taking note of the time. The puddle of sunlight was almost gone. The afternoon was running out, and he still had half a day's work ahead of him. "And I should be going, or all the people who want my attention will get cross, and I'll have to deal with even more angry people. It never ends." He got to his feet and set his nearly empty mug on the table. "I'll let you know what Guinevere says about Niniane coming here. And you manage to figure any of this…" Arthur waved a hand in a lazy circle to indicate any of the myriad problems that lay before them, "out, you'll let me know?"

"You'll be the first."

"Good to know," Arthur said. He closed the door gently behind himself and paused at the top of the stairs to rub his weary eyes.

"Having a rough time of it, then?" Bedivere's voice floated up from a shadowy niche a few steps down.

"I had far too many things to do before this mess appeared." Arthur sighed and lowered his voice. The castle walls had too many ears. "I don't suppose you have anything new to tell me?"

"No. His Lordship met with his tailor and was preparing to ride out for a brief hunt when I left him this morning. He said nothing of import while I was in earshot. Nothing suspicious, either. Really, he didn't say much at all." Bedievere shrugged and leaned back against the wall.

"He doesn't suspect you, does he?" Arthur asked.

"I think he gives me as much notice as he does a fly on his horse's ass. I'm just another halfwit with a sword to him," Bedivere smirked. "He's been getting more and more wound up about something lately. Some days he's fit to burst, but in the past couple of weeks he's been walking around like he's been handed the keys to the castle. I'd have guessed he'd taken a mistress, but there's no sign of a woman anywhere. Maybe it has something to do with Merlin's current troubles, and maybe not. But if I had to guess, I'd say he's involved. How, I don't know. I'm not close enough to his high-muckety-muck to hear half of what he's planning."

"Well, tell me what you do end up hearing. It doesn't take much to unravel someone's plans, no matter how carefully they're laid. And if you can pass on anything that will unsettle his lordship, so much the better," said Arthur.

"I'll just tell him how that one," Bedivere nodded toward the doorway and the sorcerer beyond, "is taking this whole matter very calmly. It has the benefit of being the truth, too. Though how he's managing it is a mystery to me."

"He's not taking it calmly," Arthur said. "But he's learned how to bottle it all up after a lifetime of hiding. Keep an eye on him for me. I trust him with my life, but I don't know how much more of this he can take before he snaps."

"If half of what I've heard about him is true, then I doubt there will be much left of me if he snaps." Bedivere gave him a toothy grin made almost frightening by his mismatched eyes. "But I'll send what word I can if it happens."

"Thank you, Bedivere," Arthur said drolly. "I can always count on you to be so very helpful."

"I aim to please, Sire," the knight gave him a mocking bow before he went back into Gaius's chambers.

Arthur shook his head. With the number of lunatics he was surrounded by, it was a constant miracle that the kingdom hadn't fallen down around his ears yet. He glanced heavenward. "Give me the strength to deal with the madmen I've been saddled with," he whispered before heading back down to the library.

He had hoped he'd find Guinevere there with Geoffrey and Gaius, and he wasn't mistaken, though Lancelot and Gwaine had joined them. The knights had settled in with a stack of books, though Gwaine looked a bit cross-eyed, as though he wasn't quite sure which end was up. Guinevere didn't notice his arrival. She was leaning against a tall table, her chin in the palm of her hand, staring intently at the elegant handwriting on a cracking scroll. With her hair pinned up and the dust clinging to her sleeve, Guinevere looked suddenly like the serving girl he'd fallen in love with.

Arthur walked up behind her, quietly, and wrapped his arms around her shoulders and kissed her on the cheek. Guinevere gasped and would have slapped him if he hadn't been hugging her so tightly. "Arthur!" she scolded. "Merlin's right. You are a prat." Her scowl didn't last long, though. "What do you want, then?"

"Walk with me for a while?" Arthur said. He took a step away and offered her his arm.

"Of course," Guinevere said as she brushed the dust off her red velvet sleeves. The others studiously ignored them. "What is it?" she asked when they'd left the library behind.

"I have a favor I want you to say 'yes' to."

Guinevere raised an eyebrow at him. She'd been taking lessons from Gaius on that. "Do I get to know anything about this favor before I agree to it?"

"I don't think you'll mind it. There's a girl I want you to invite to court," he started, then realized how it sounded. He licked his lips and had enough sense to blush at the look Guinevere gave him. "That, ah, that came out wrong."

"Is there a way for it to sound right?"

"Yes," Arthur said. "Yes, there is. And I'll explain why. You see, Merlin's the one asking the favor. The girl's a Druid, and she apparently wants to come to court. She thinks there's something important she has to do or somesuch. Visions, or whatever. She wants to serve as one of your ladies-in-waiting."

"A lady-in-waiting?" Guinevere looked skeptical. Arthur could see her running through the calculations in her head. "I already have two, Arthur, and it feels like too many. I'm used to serving, not to being served. I don't know what I could possibly have a third lady do. And what if she has some ulterior motive for coming here? She wouldn't be the first Druid to come to Camelot to cause mischief."

"I haven't forgotten that," Arthur said. "But this girl is one of the three who saved Merlin after Blackheath. They risked walking into a camp full of Camelot's knights and soldiers to help him. If she meant us harm, why would she have done that? Besides." Arthur couldn't contain his grin. "If I read him right, I'd say our Merlin is sweet on this girl."

" Ah." Guinevere smiled. "It's about time someone caught his eye. He seems so lonely sometimes. Tell Merlin I'd be happy to have her here. It'll be interesting to see what sort of girl catches his eye."

Arthur took her hands and spun Guinevere around like they were dancing in the great hall. His grin broadened, if that was possible. Her laugh echoed down the hallway, causing servants and guards to pause in their duties and smile at the sight of their ebullient young king and queen dancing for no reason. He spun her about once more then drew her back to himself and kissed her hand. "I do love you, Guinevere."

"And I love you," she replied, her eyes sparkling. "But what was all that for?"

"For being you. When everyone else despairs, you have such hope. I wish more people were like you." She blushed and nestled against him, the scent of her lavender soap tickling his nose as he wrapped his arms around her. "Don't ever change that, Guinevere. Always be my light."


	12. Chapter 12

After two days of fruitless searching through what felt like an endless series of crumbling books, Lancelot felt like his brain was about to turn to water and spill out of his ears. He resisted the urge to put his hands to his head to block the imaginary drainage. It wouldn't stop the flow of his intelligence if it did decide to slosh away, and he'd just look like an idiot in the meantime. Best to just let things fall as they might, even if it was all over the table and onto the old texts piled around him.

He closed the book closest to him, carefully, without causing the pages to flake any more than they already had. Damaging the thing wouldn't do any good, even if he wanted to slam it shut out of sheer frustration and fling against the wall as hard as he could. Two days of searching through all these dusty old tomes, and in that time he hadn't found a damned thing. No helpful ancient laws, no legal precedents. There weren't even any stories about helpful sorcerers aiding confused knights to help them find their way through haunted forests. All he'd really learned in the past few days was that Gwaine's insistence that Lady Linnet was slowly warming up to him was probably true, because she was sitting next to him without complaining of his presence.

"You haven't found anything either?"

Lancelot blinked and looked across the table at Gwaine. "No. Did you?"

Gwaine pushed his hair away and scrubbed a hand over his face. There were shadows under his eyes that mirrored the ones under Lancelot's. They all looked tired. It wouldn't be long before their nerves started fraying too. "No. I don't think I'm made for searching through old books, though. If I could go out in the woods and track something down, I think I'd feel like less of a dullard." Gwaine leaned back in his chair and rubbed his eyes, completely missing the smirk Linnet sent his way. "What do you think of that barrister, then? What's his name? Thomas? Think he's actually going to argue on Merlin's behalf?"

Lancelot shrugged. Arthur had confidence in the man's abilities, but the knight had only greeted him in passing, never exchanging more than a few words with him. "I don't know," Lancelot said softly. "But from the way he, Gaius, and Geoffrey have been holed up over there, arguing over that book, I'd have to say…. maybe?"

"Your confidence is astounding, Lance. Really." Gwaine heaved a sigh and pushed a stack of books toward the growing pile in the middle of everything. Soon enough they wouldn't be able to see each other from across the table. "What are they talking about, anyway?"

"The centuries-old prophecies of a Druid named Taliesin," Linnet said without looking up from the scroll she was studying. "Really, Gwaine, they've been talking about it for the past hour. If you haven't picked that up by now then you really are the dullard you think you are."

"Taliesin?" Gwaine turned bloodshot eyes toward the queen's lady at his side.

Linnet glanced up, her usual scorn for the knight pooling in her dark eyes. "Yes. Taliesin. A Druid, oracle, and advisor to the king of Camelot a long time ago. If you'd been paying attention, you might have realized that they're trying to figure out if Taliesin's darker prophecies can be compared to Merlin's and thereby show that oracles aren't committing treason by prophesying the downfall of a king or kingdom." She shot Lancelot an irritated glance before looking back at Gwaine. "Do you understand that, or should I use smaller words?"

"Oh, I understand fully, M'Lady." Gwaine's smile was all teeth and insincerity. "I was just looking for another reminder as to why a lady of your beauty was chosen to portray Lady Scorn at the Beltaine masque." There were muffled laughs from around the table at that. Even Guinevere was hiding a smile.

"Would you two just get on with it already?" Percival grumbled from a nearby bookshelf. Being the tallest man in the room, he'd been assigned the task of putting away books that had come from the highest shelves. "Some of us are getting a little bored of you beating around the bush. Go find yourselves an empty room or a forest glade and be done with it. We're getting tired of your bickering. You already sound like an old married couple."

"Aw, did someone not have a good time courting One-Eyed Hilde?" Gwaine said. A smirk returned to his face.

"Bugger off, Gwaine." Percival scowled. "Some of us are trying to figure out how to help Merlin here."

"That's all we've been doing for the past few days," Lancelot said. He kept his voice level, trying to maintain the calm in the room. After all this time of being cooped up in the library, all their tempers were short, and they were starting to strike out at each other with sharp comments that were just shy of angry. None of it was doing either them or Merlin any good. "We've just been searching through all these books, trying to find legal precedence that doesn't seem to exist. Maybe it was never there to begin with, or maybe Uther destroyed it in the Purge. Either way, it just seems like we're at a dead end. Unless you have any ideas?"

Percival plopped down onto one of the wooden chairs. It creaked under the sudden weight but didn't give way like Lancelot half expected it to. "It's just-" he broke off and frowned at the books all around. "We've been looking for answers in here for the last three days, and so far all anyone's found is some three hundred year old prophecy, and no one has any idea if that's going to help Merlin at all. What if the answer we're looking for isn't in here at all? What if it's been staring us in the face all this time, and no one's noticed?"

"What do you mean?" Lancelot asked. "Do you think Merlin knows a way out of this, and just hasn't bothered to say anything?"

"No," Percival scowled, shooting Lancelot a look that clearly said, ' _you are an idiot'_ _._ "Well it's the woodsman, isn't it?"

"What about the woodsman? Henry's story hasn't changed since he arrived in Camelot," Guinevere said. She carefully closed her book and folded her hands across its gilded cover, leaning forward to give Percival her undivided attention. It was a small gesture, but one that people noticed. They loved her for it.

"I know. It's just that, well, I don't know. There's something that doesn't sit right with me about it." Percival shook his head and studied his hands. Lancelot recognized the look. It meant he was puzzling through something, and if they all shut their mouths and gave him time to ponder whatever it was, Percival would end up with something clever. "None of you grew up in the countryside. You all grew up in town, right?" They all nodded. "Well I grew up in the woods. I was a woodsman. So were my brothers, my father, my granddad, and his father and on and on. Lots of woodsmen living out in the woods. And I just can't help but wonder what this Henry was doing so far from his house in the middle of the night."

"He said he was checking for thieves. There have been reports of bandits stealing sheep and other livestock in the area," Guinevere said. "We've sent men into the area to track them down."

"I know. But the bandits are part of what's confusing about all this. When I was little," Percival ignored the scoffs from the others who had a hard time imagining that the big knight had ever been a little boy, "there were bandits near where I lived. A band of a dozen or so. They robbed travelers and took to a bit of housebreaking now and then. Cenred's men finally caught them- it was about the only good thing the bastard ever did- but until that happened, you know what my father did?"

"I'll bite," Gwaine said, "What'd your father do?"

"He sharpened his ax and slept in front of the door every night until they were sure the bandits were all gone," Percival said. "He checked the house and the barn when we got home from work, and once the sun went down we all stayed inside. He wouldn't have left us alone. Not for anything. And except for my Mum, we were all boys. But Henry, he's got only girls, right?"

"Right."

Percival looked at them one by one to see if his words were sinking in. "So what kind of man insists he was protecting his wife and his girls by leaving them alone when there were thieves about? Lancelot, you said that you and Gwaine were with Merlin until you were long past that town, right?" Lancelot nodded, and Percival continued, "So you were far out in the forest, away from any farms or houses or any place that a woodsman protecting his family would have a right to be, weren't you?"

"Aye," Gwaine said, his brow creasing as his eyes darkened with a growing anger, "We didn't see signs that anyone lived there. Merlin didn't act like he sensed anything, either."

"Then I'm right in thinking that we're not going to find a way out of this by reading a bunch of books?" Percival asked.

"I don't think you're wrong, Percival," Guinevere replied. She sat back in her chair, her chin tilted up thoughtfully. "There may be an answer in here that will help Merlin, but perhaps it's not the only one. I think we need to speak to Arthur about this. There may be more to Henry's story than meets the eye."


	13. Chapter 13

Merlin had adjusted his collar half a dozen times already, buttoned and rebuttoned his coat and tied the lacings on his fingerless gloves thrice over, all in an attempt to calm his nerves. But none of it worked. He could neither stop his hands from shaking nor quell the nausea that threatened to overwhelm him. Not that he’d eaten in the past day. The sight of anything more substantial than tea turned his stomach. He hadn’t bothered to try to eat more than a bit of bread, and that was the night before.

He hadn’t slept, either. He’d lain awake all night, staring into the dark, wondering. What would become of him if he was forced to leave? What would happen to Arthur and Guinevere, and to the rest of Camelot? To the future of Albion? He’d chided himself over and over when he circled back to the last two questions. What was he-- a servant, riddling oracle, and scarred sorcerer-- in the grand scheme of things? Was he really so important that Camelot couldn’t do without him?

“Merlin?” Gaius’s tentative voice was muffled by the door between their rooms. “Do you want anything to eat before we go?”

“No. Nothing.” Merlin shuddered at the thought of food. “Thank you, though.”

“Are you alright?”

“I’m about to go on trial for treason, Gaius, and I’m quite certain the judges are predisposed to finding me guilty. So no, I’m not alright. I didn’t do anything wrong.” Merlin plopped down onto his bed, wincing when the sudden movement pulled at the scars on his back.

Gaius stepped into the room and closed the door behind him. Its quiet creaking was loud against the quiet. “You weren’t always such a pessimist. There was a time when you were nothing but hopeful.”

“That was before Blackheath. Before I was accused of treason. Before people started to blame me for everything.” Merlin clasped his hands in his lap, locking his fingers together to stop their shaking. Whether it was from anger or nervousness, he couldn’t say. “If there’s sickness, it’s Merlin’s fault, they say. If there’s no rain, it’s Merlin’s fault. If there’s too much rain and our crops are washed away, it’s my fault. They’ll blame me for our losses at the border, or for the fact that the sun goes down at night.” He squeezed his eyes shut and slumped forward, his elbows braced against his knees. “I always thought things would be better, easier if everyone knew about my magic, Gaius, but it’s been anything but simple. It’s been so much worse. I don’t know how much longer I can do this.”

The little bed shifted as Gaius sat down beside him. The old physician sighed. “I wish I had answers for you, Merlin. I used to, even if you never listened to them.” Merlin almost smiled at that. “I wish I could make things easier for you. Gods know you’ve earned it. All I can say now, though, is that you should trust in Arthur. He still has hope that things will turn out for the best, even if you don’t.”

“I know. Sometimes I think he has more hope for the future than I do. But he hardly had the chance to talk to me yesterday. Neither did Guinevere.” Merlin said. “And the knights weren’t here at all. Apparently, Lancelot, Gwaine, Percival, and Elyan were sent off on some vital errand. Leon was busy organizing troops to go to the border, and Arthur was off doing whatever it is Arthur does when he’s being kingly. I spent the whole day stuck in here with Bedivere. Again.”

Gaius chuckled softly. “Do you despise his company that much?”

“He’s not so terrible as I first thought,” Merlin admitted, “But it’s not pleasant to be cooped up with anyone for days on end.” He rolled to his feet and set to pacing, fussing again at the laces of his half-gloves. “Iseldir said I could stay with them, you know. Out in the forest with the Druids, spending the summers here in Camelot and the winters on the southern reaches of Nemeth.” Gaius raised an eyebrow at him, pulling a reluctant smirk from Merlin’s lips. “He meant it as a joke, but…” Merlin trailed off and halted mid-stride. His gaze wandered out the window and to the castle walls and the forest beyond. “Wouldn’t it be nice to be among people who are like me, even if it’s just for a season?”

“Has all this strained your faith in Arthur that much?”

“No,” Merlin hurriedly said. “No. Never that. It’s just… I’m so tired of all this. Everything I do is for Arthur and for Camelot, but no one ever seems to notice.” He was struck by a sudden, aching desire to go back to the forest. To hear Aneirin sing again, and see Niniane’s smile.

“Arthur notices what you do. So do Gwen and all the knights. And I do, too. You’re not invisible,” Gaius said. Merlin looked back at him and let himself believe the old healer’s words for a time. “This is all just a passing shadow. Worse than some, and easier to bear than others. You will survive this.”

“I know. I just worry about where I’ll end up at the end off all this, whether it’s here in Camelot or somewhere else. I suppose it’s a relief to know that the Druids would take me in,” Merlin let out a short, bitter laugh that trailed off in another sigh. He sat back down next to Gaius. “Did Arthur tell you what his plans were? He mentioned something about it, but he wouldn’t say what he had in mind. Like it was some big secret.”

“I think it was a secret,” Gaius said. “Neither Arthur nor Gwen would tell me what was going on, even when I asked them about it directly. Though they did have a long audience with Thomas. No one knew where the knights were sent yesterday. They returned late last night in great secrecy. Whatever plans Arthur has, few know about them, and for once I think that’s for the best. The fewer people who know what’s in Arthur’s mind right now, the better. Less will get out to your enemies.”

“You mean Pynell,” Merlin said flatly.

Gaius’s answering smile was a rueful one. “I suppose I do. But outside this room, Merlin, it’s best that you don’t accuse or say something that could be seen as an accusation. Not unless you have proof.”

Merlin bit back a spiteful comment about the decided lack of proof that was being leveled against him. “I’ll try not to say something stupid, then.”

“I’ve been telling you that since the day you arrived. There are days I’m still not sure if you listen to me in that regard.” Gaius patted him on the shoulder and pushed himself to his feet. The physician’s old joints creaked and cracked in protest. “Come along, then. I hear the bells ringing out the hour. We need to leave soon.”

 

* * *

 

Though he was clad in his finest clothes-- his snowy white shirt, a crimson scarf at his throat, and the dragon of Camelot embroidered in silver thread on the sleeve of his gray-toned coat-- Merlin still felt like a ragamuffin in the midst of the finery sported by the great lords and ladies of the court. Their silks and brocades dazzled with a whirlwind of color, and it was only the open windows high up in the gallery that kept the tumult of perfumes from overwhelming everyone in the room.

Merlin’s heart crawled into his throat and took up firm lodgings there. His gaze darted around the room, looking for familiar faces amongst the crowd. He found Percival, Lancelot, and the others at the far end, standing around someone Merlin couldn’t see. Arthur and Guinevere were there in their thrones near to where the judges perched. Merlin caught Arthur’s gaze and the king inexplicably winked at him, a gesture so small and fleeting that he wasn’t sure if he’d truly seen it or not. Guinevere offered him a faint smile.

He tried to smile back at her, but his face felt stiff and unable to make even the smallest of movements. He straightened his back, squared his shoulders, and did his best to maintain some semblance of dignity despite the low note of displeasure rumbling through the crowd.

Gaius squeezed his arm and offered Merlin a smile before slipping away to shuffle through the crowd to stand with the Privy Council. His lawyer, Thomas, approached and gestured for Merlin to take his seat near the front. He leaned in close to whisper in Merlin’s ear. “You remember what we discussed? Don’t let them bait you. Stay calm. You’re the innocent one here.” Merlin nodded and let out a shaky breath.

_‘Now would be a good time for a hint of a future.’_

He almost laughed at the thought, but swallowed it back. Having a vision now wouldn’t do him any good. Likely, it would just end up as a riddle that helped condemn him.

Merlin sat down on the straight-backed chair. He kept his gaze on his folded hands, the voices of the judges and the lawyers a blur as they worked their way through the preliminary statements and arguments. There seemed to be little sense in listening. His job was to answer the questions once he was asked. The lawyer was meant to handle the rest. They talked on and on until their voices started to sound like buzzing bees droning around a garden full of flowers in the sunlight. Then Thomas touched him on the shoulder, breaking him out of his reverie.

The head judge turned his saturnine face toward Merlin. His voice was low and didn’t carry far. The crowd fell silent and leaned in to better hear every word. “We call on you now, Merlin. Do you understand the charges that have been laid against you?”

Merlin stood and rested his shaking hands on the railing in front of him. “Yes, I do.”

“And how do you answer them?”

Merlin’s lips twitched in an almost-smile. “How else would I answer them, My Lord? I am not guilty of this charge of treason. Yes, it is true that I met with Morgana on the eve of Lughnasadh, but that alone does not make me a traitor. Meeting with an enemy is, in and of itself, not a criminal act. If it were, would we not have to arrest all our ambassadors who go to lands we are at war with? Convict every knight who questions an enemy prisoner?” Merlin paused to take a breath and refused to react to the rumbling of the crowd. “If meeting with an enemy were an act of treason, then would not his Majesty the King find himself in danger? I hear that he met with the Sarrum of Amata the night before the Battle of Blackheath.” There was a low rumble of laughter at that.

The judge raised a heavy brow at Merlin, but from the stern set of his features, it was difficult to tell if he was amused or angered by Merlin’s response. “And you also deny that, while meeting with Morgana, you conspired against Camelot, and against the king?”

“I do deny it.”

“And yet,” the judge said, “the woodsman, Henry Boyce, who made the allegations, claims otherwise. He says that he saw you with Morgana, and also that he heard you conspiring with her. Surely you cannot both be telling the truth. Do you mean to say that the woodsman is lying, then?”

“I have not heard Henry’s story from start to finish, and thus I would not be able to declare that this point or that was either truth or falsehood,” Merlin said. “I can only verify what I was present for, and at no point during my encounter with Morgana did I conspire with her against Camelot, or against the king.”

“Then what, precisely, were you doing?”

“It was a matter of prophecy, My Lord. Morgana and I were drawn together by those powers that some would call Fate. But while she and I share the same faith, we do not follow the same gods anymore than you would follow both King Arthur and King Urien of Rheged.” Merlin paused to wet his lips and see if his words had sunk into the judge’s head. He had nearly shut out the crowd now, and was speaking for the judge alone. “Prophecy is never easy to explain. It comes as riddles within riddles. Its meaning is never solid, and can mean different things to different people. Morgana might see one side of a story, while I see a different side altogether.”

The judge nodded gravely, though it was impossible to say whether he believed Merlin at all. “The woodsman claims he heard you speak of the fall of Camelot. What have you to say about that?”

“Morgana and I were brought to that clearing by the gods so that we could receive a full prophecy instead of the vague hints and images we see otherwise. In our shared vision, we saw a threat coming from beyond the sea. If left unchecked, this threat would wash over Camelot and, indeed, all the Five Kingdoms and utterly destroy them. What we saw was a call to action. A warning that, if the kingdoms do not unite, then surely we will all fall.”

The crowd erupted at that proclamation, but Merlin didn’t move or look away from the judge. He waited until a hush had fallen over the room again. “Have you anything else to say, then?”

“No,” Merlin replied. “Unless you have more questions for me?”

“You maintain your innocence in the face of allegations of treason, and you have declared that your meeting with Morgana was, in fact, in accordance with the wishes of your gods, so that you might receive a warning against future threats against the realm, is this not so?”

“It is.”

The judge nodded and scratched a few notes with his quill, then stared back at Merlin for a long moment. Merlin simply looked back at him. “I have no more questions at this time, though I may have more later. Sit down Merlin.” The judge turned his attention away.

Merlin sat down and let out a slow breath. He risked a glance toward Arthur. The king was watching him, a faint smile tugging at his lips. He gave Merlin a faint nod before he looked away, too.

“The court now calls upon Henry Boyce. Come forward, Master Boyce.”

The woodsman stepped forward then, an old, tattered hat twisted in his hands. His eyes were wide as he glanced around at the court, and he looked for all the world like he was about to pass out on the spot. “Milord?”

“Master Boyce, you are the man who has made allegations of treason against the sorcerer known as Merlin?”

“Yes, Milord.”  Henry turned his gaze toward Lancelot and the other knights and for the first time, Merlin noticed who they were standing around. There was a woman about Henry’s age. She looked tired, but there was a small smile on her face as she looked upon him. There were two girls there, as well, perhaps ten and twelve years old. Among the brightly colored birds of the court, they looked like a trio of drab little sparrows.

“Will you tell us,” the judge said, “what you saw in the clearing that night, when Merlin met with Morgana?”

“I-” Henry shivered and licked his lips. He looked back at the woman and smiled faintly. “That night, Milord, I weren’t at the clearing. I didn’t see Merlin, nor Morgana neither. Milord, I was at home with my wife and my girls. There are thieves haunting the town and the area roundabouts. I wouldn’t have left them for the world.”

The crowd burst into an uproar, their shouts echoing through the room. The judge tried to speak, but they drowned him out and he raised a hand to call for silence. If the motion had come from Arthur, perhaps silence would have fallen immediately. As it was, the judge had to wait a few heartbeats before the din subsided. “If you were not a witness to the events of that night, Master Boyce, then why have you come to Camelot to make this accusation? Who told you of this meeting?”

Henry looked up at Arthur, who merely nodded back at the man. “Milord, there were a man who came to my house that night, long after midnight. I didn’t hear him come in. He didn’t wake my wife or my daughters. Only me. He put a knife to my throat and told me to come here to accuse Merlin of treachery. He told me just what to say, and then he said that if I didn’t, he’d kill my family, Milord.” Henry’s voice broke and he bowed his head. His shoulders rose and fell as he struggled to regain his composure. “I’m an honest man, but my family is my world. I wouldn’t put them at risk. Not for anything.”

“I see,” the judge said. “And can you describe this man who came to your house?”

“No, sire. I didn’t see his face at all. He had a hood, and it was dark. But his voice was cold, Milord, like he had no soul in him. I believed him when he said he’d hurt my wife and my girls.” Henry looked up at Arthur. “Sire, I didn’t want to say what I did, but I couldn’t take the chance. Surely you can understand the love a man carries for his family?”

“I can understand that very well,” Arthur said. His hand tightened around Guinevere’s.

“Well, then.” The judge pitched his voice to carry across the room. “There are but two witnesses here. Merlin admits that he met with the witch, Morgana, but that he planned no treachery and, in fact, the reason for his being there was to receive a warning about future threats against the kingdom. Master Boyce, who first accused Merlin, says his story was a lie made under threat. Are there any others in this court who can counter either of these claims?” The judge leveled his saturnine gaze over the crowd, daring anyone to speak out with falsehood. The silence lengthened for the span of a dozen heartbeats. To Merlin, it seemed to last forever. “Very well, then. We will recess until the noonday bell, after which we will have a verdict. Master Boyce, Merlin, pray do not leave before we return.” The judges stood and filed out.

Merlin folded his hands together, winding his fingers around each other so tightly they felt like they were about to break. Noon wasn’t quite an hour away, but it might as well have been forever. “How did I do?” he asked Thomas as the man read back through his notes.

Thomas chuckled. “Better than most of my other clients have ever done. If I didn’t know better, I’d swear you had ice water in your veins, lad.”

“Because that’s what everyone wants to hear at their trial, right?”

“It’s alright, Merlin,” Thomas said. “You did well. With your calm matched with Henry’s admission that he was coerced, I would wager that your chances of winning this have gone from slim to quite high, actually. Now we just have to wait.”

“Is that all?” Merlin sighed and braced his elbows against the rail in front of him, dropping his head into his hands.

“Yes,” Thomas rested a hand on Merlin’s shoulder. “That’s really all we have to do now.”

 

* * *

 

The judges returned at the promised time, just under an hour later. To Merlin, it felt like a hundred years had passed. The crowd had returned long before, its ranks swelling to fill the room and beyond. It wouldn’t have surprised him to find that people were lining the halls, with everyone trying to get close enough to hear the verdict firsthand.

A strange silence fell when the judges took their seats. Their leader looked out across the room with his heavy gaze.”We have come to an agreement in this case. Unless the man who threatened Master Boyce is willing to testify that the story he gave to the woodsman is the truth, then there would seem to be no real evidence against the sorcerer, Merlin, and thus no true basis for this trial.”He took a breath and held up a hand to forestall the first protests. “Citizens of this kingdom have been convicted based on mere hearsay before. This cannot continue. Justice, not vengeance must be the goal of the courts. This is not the place to settle petty scores or idle grievances. Not if we are to make this kingdom a just and peaceful realm.

“For your lies, Master Boyce,” the judge continued, “you should receive a harsh sentence. But since you were coerced into saying them, it would be unjust of this court to level punishment against you. Go in peace, and do not forget the King’s mercy.” The judge looked back at Merlin. “As for you, Merlin, while your status as a pagan and a sorcerer causes many to look at you with suspicion, your history as a loyal servant-- even under great duress-- cannot be overlooked. Your lawyer has provided ample evidence of your service, as has the King himself. While we of the court could spend more time deliberating the matter,” he glanced at the two, lesser judges on either side of him, “the answer seems plain, does it not?”

The other judges nodded. “Then it is agreed. Since there is no other evidence of treason, and Merlin’s accuser has admitted under oath this his story was false, then all charges against him are hereby dismissed. Go in peace, Merlin, and remember to serve your King with the same loyalty you have shown all these years.”

For a moment, Merlin couldn’t hear for the beating of his heart. If he hadn’t been sitting down, he would have collapsed with relief. To be heard-- and believed-- by the judges of Camelot’s court was not an outcome he had ever expected, or could have hoped for.

He was still in his seat, shaking, his stomach fluttering like an entire flock of butterflies had taken up residence, as the crowd slowly filed out. If they were disappointed in the ruling, he couldn’t tell. He didn’t care. For once, the hand of justice had reached out to him instead of beating him into the ground again.

He didn’t know how long he sat there, but suddenly Arthur was standing in front of him. “You look like a startled stoat, Merlin.” He chuckled and clapped Merlin on the shoulder.

“Did that just happen? Am I really free to go?”

“Yes, hard as it might be for you to believe, Merlin, the course of justice isn’t always bent when it comes to you.” Arthur grinned and pulled him to his feet. “Come on. I’ve had  enough of courts and lawyers for today. Walk with us,” he said as he took Guinevere’s arm.

Still a bit dazed, Merlin simply followed where Arthur led. “But what happened? Were you expecting this? And if you were, why didn’t you tell me?”

“Not here. There are too many ears.” Arthur led them up flights of stairs and through the long hallways to his and Guinevere’s shared chambers. Leon was waiting for them outside the door and opened it for them as they approached. “Is it done?” Arthur asked him once they were inside.

“Yes, sire. We found chambers for the Boyce family among the servants. Mistress Boyce will be working in the kitchens for the time being, and their daughters will be taking lessons with the other children. The guard has been increased in light of the situation, in case the one who threatened them comes back to Camelot.”

“Who? What? I don’t understand. What’s happened?” Merlin looked around at the others. He’d clearly missed something.

Arthur laughed again. “You know, it’s not very often that we have the upper hand when it comes to knowing what’s going on. That look of absolute cluelessness on your face is priceless.”

“Are you just going to leave me in the dark, then?” Merlin asked.

“I thought about it.”

“Arthur,” Gwen’s voice held a note of amused reproach. She poured a cup of wine for all of them and gestured for Leon and Merlin to sit.

“Fine, then,” Arthur said. “It was Percival, apparently, who raised the point first, that a woodsman under threat from bandits and thieves probably wouldn’t be wandering the woods at night. It was a valid point, and I’m not sure why you didn’t think of it yourself, if you’re so smart.”

Merlin rolled his eyes. “I wasn’t exactly a normal peasant growing up. Most people stayed inside at night. I didn’t. So Percival wondered why Henry was out in the woods. What happened then?”

Arthur took a long drink of his wine and gently set the cup down, drawing out the moment as long as he could. Just to be annoying. “He, Guinevere, and the others brought it up with me,” Arthur said at last. “I thought Percival made a fair point. I spoke with Henry, and once I’d convinced him that he wouldn’t be persecuted for it, he confessed to the lie, and told me that he feared for his family’s lives. That’s why I sent Lancelot, Gwaine, and the rest of them on that errand. They rode out to find Henry’s wife and daughters and bring them back safely. They’ll be living here in Camelot until we find whoever it was that threatened them.”

“Do you have any idea who it was?” Merlin asked

“Unfortunately, no,” Arthur said. “He must have been following you that night, though, to give that story to Henry. You didn’t notice anything, did you?”.

Merlin thought back to the night he met with Morgana, but other than vague feelings of unease that could be attributed to the priestess’s presence, he couldn’t think of anything. “No. I’m sorry. My mind was on other things.”

“Then two questions remain. Who is this man, and who hired him?” Arthur sighed. “I know who my first guess would be, but without this shadowy man in custody, all we’d be doing is leveling accusations without proof. I think there’s been enough of that going on of late.” Merlin smirked at that, but held his tongue. “Keep your eyes open. Whoever this man is, he’s not going to stop because this one plan was thwarted. I doubt this will be the last we hear from him.”

 


	14. Chapter 14

"Are you hiding in the bushes again, Merlin?"

Merlin looked away from the night's last stars to where Arthur stood, a dozen paces away at the edge of the Queen's Garden. "If I'm hiding from anyone, it's Gwaine," Merlin said, wincing when his own voice sent a short spike of pain through his head.

"Get you drunk, did he?" Arthur laughed at his pained nod. "Saved from the courts, only to fall victim to your friends. You should have known better. Gwaine can drink just about any man under the table. What did you think he was giving you? Spring water?"

"I wasn't really thinking about it, honestly. I was still a bit in shock, after all. Never expected a court case to go in my favor like that. I figured I'd be convicted and booted out of Camelot in one fell swoop." Merlin sat back against the hawthorn tree and tugged at the laces of his half-gloves.

Arthur sat down, cross legged, with his elbows braced on his knees. For a moment, he looked like the ridiculous young prince Merlin had met all those years ago, not like the noble king he had become. "Not everyone in Camelot hates you, Merlin, and not every deck is stacked against you. The head judge today, Judge Thorne, well," Arthur shrugged, "he's always lived up to his name. He was a thorn in my father's side from the day he was named to the position. Uther tried to have him removed more than once, but never managed to find a way to do it within the law. So buck up." Arthur clapped him on the shoulder. "You have a few allies here. Probably more than you know." He frowned at the ashen shade Merlin's face had turned. "Are you all right? You're not going to faint on me now, are you?"

"No." Merlin tried to speak without moving his lips, to breathe without moving his chest, or indeed, tried not to move at all. "But thank you, for bringing back this spectacular headache. I'd missed it. Really." The amount of sarcasm Merlin injected into his voice was breathtaking.

"Well, now you'll know to beware of Gwaine when he bears gifts," Arthur said.

"The Greeks come bearing gifts, not Gwaine." Merlin opened one eye enough to glare at Arthur.

"Who?"

"The Greeks. At the end of the Trojan War, they built a giant horse in order to breach the city walls, and…" he trailed off at Arthur's confused look and decided to stop talking for once. Explaining that particular story called for a day when he had more time. And less of a headache. "Never mind. I'll explain it another time. Right now that story doesn't even make much sense to me." Merlin rubbed his eyes and willed the headache away. As long as he sat still and breathed slowly, it seemed to subside. A little. "I'm going to get him for this. Gwaine had better watch himself."

Arthur laughed. "I'll let him know you said that. And I'll make sure he's assigned duties here in Camelot for the next fortnight. That should give you plenty of opportunities for revenge."

"Oh, you're helping me out for once? That's uncommonly kind of you."

"Well, I'd just hate to see you clear the treason trials, only to have you end up in the stocks because you were staggering around in a drunken haze and turning people's chickens into frogs or something. Or end up in the bed of some girl you hardly know." Arthur's smile turned sly, like there was some bit of information he had that Merlin didn't have.

"Why are you looking at me like that? It's disturbing." Merlin scowled, but his thoughts turned to the scrap of parchment in his pocket and its message to Niniane, inviting her to court. His cheeks burned for a moment, and he was glad the pre-dawn darkness hid the rising color."Anyway. I don't have a girl."

"Ah." Arthur didn't sound convinced. "You do remember what I told you last night? About the Druid girl who wants to come to court? You weren't quite three sheets to the wind at that point, but a lot might have happened between now and then. There was certainly a lot of ale involved."

"I don't need the reminder about that." Merlin rubbed his eyes again. He had a feeling he would need one of Gaius's remedies before the morning was out. The thought of it was enough to turn his stomach and kill any desire he had to drink ale, mead, wine, or anything else of the sort ever again. "I wasn't a complete idiot last night." He fished the note out of his pocket and held it up between two fingers. "I'm just waiting for a bird."

"I thought you didn't have a girl," Arthur teased.

Merlin shot another glare at him. "You know what I mean. Bird, as in owl. I'm not waiting for a girl."

"Whatever you say."

"You're all conspiring against me," Merlin grumbled.

"In one way or another, yes. I suppose we are. But we mean well. You can't blame the lads for trying to make you smile for once, after you've spent the past week looking like you have your own personal thundercloud following you about." Arthur looked up at the sky. Dawn was breaking now, brushing a pale pink light over the towers of Camelot. "You should probably go in soon, if you're so hungover. The sun's almost up. I'll give you one day off to plot your revenge against Gwaine, but that's it. There's work that needs doing since you've spent the last few days slacking off in your chambers."

Merlin threw the king a decidedly unamused look. Half a dozen spiky retorts came to mind, but he thought better of it. "I'm not even going to grace that with a response," he said as he rubbed the back of his neck.

"That's probably for the best," Arthur said. "And with that said, I'm going to go. Vital kingdom's work to be done, and all. Don't even bother trying to 'help' today. If you're still so hungover, you'll be more of a hindrance than anything. You'd probably fall down the stairs or throw up on an ambassador and then what would I do?"

"Put me out of my misery?" Merlin suggested.

"I'm sure I'd be tempted to." Arthur climbed to his feet and brushed the bits of grass off his trousers. He turned to go, then glanced back at Merlin, a broad smile spreading across his face.

"What?"

"Oh, nothing. Just keep waiting for your bird. I'm sure she'll turn up soon enough," Arthur chuckled and disappeared back through the door he'd come from.

"'Keep waiting for your bird'," Merlin grumbled, then sighed. The memory of Niniane's smile appeared in his mind, and his own faint grin answered it. Perhaps he had revealed more to Arthur about his own desire for Niniane to come to court than he realized. And maybe that wasn't such a bad thing, after all. There were worse things to endure than a bit of gentle teasing about his feelings for a girl. And if she returned those affections, then the irritation was more than worth it.

Merlin shrugged off the chill of foreboding he felt at those thoughts and turned his attention to the shivering tree branches above, and the little owl fluttering toward him. He coaxed the bird out of the air and settled it on his knee so he could roll up the note and carefully tie it to the bird's leg. "I'd tell you to rest for a while, but you were up in the trees the whole time, weren't you?"

The owl's answering squeak was neither a confirmation nor a denial. Merlin laughed and brushed a finger down the bird's back. Then he whispered a word of magic and a wash of power flowed from him into the owl. "Take this safely to Iseldir. You know him." The bird squeaked again and launched itself into the air, riding the currents of air over the towers, toward the forest.

" _Come find me, Ninane."_


	15. Chapter 15

Gareth, son of King Hywel of Amata and squire to King Arthur of Camelot, was not having the best of mornings. He should have known better, the night before, to avoid Sir Gwaine at the little party the knights had thrown to celebrate the outcome of Merlin's trial. Everyone said the man had an iron stomach and could drink anyone under the table, no matter the strength of their constitution.

Sir Gwaine was also a charismatic man, adept at talking other men into doing things they ought not do, and that including persuading certain young squires to drink rather more mead than was good for him. Gareth had woken up that morning with a headache fit to split it head open, or so it had seemed. Fortunately, there hadn't been much in his stomach when he'd thrown up, and the pitcher of water had helped with his head, both when he drank the water and then when he'd poured the rest of it over himself.

The world was still spinning in slow circles, though. But Gaius would surely have a remedy for that. Gareth couldn't have been the first squire foolish enough to drink too much during a celebration. At least he probably wouldn't be alone in his misery. Merlin himself hadn't been walking straight by the time all was said and done.

Gareth chuckled, then winced when the movement made his head ache. Merlin the Sorcerer, a strange man feared by many and hated by others. How many would find him so fearful, if they'd seen him at the end of the night after he'd walked straight into a wall? Gareth wasn't the only one Gwaine had been plying with too much ale and mead. There would be more than one man suffering from a hangover in the city today.

But the morning wasn't getting any younger, and there was nothing for it but to make his way to Gaius's for whatever horrid remedy the physician would concoct. Gareth pulled on a shirt and trousers and buckled on a pair of boots before running a comb through his hair. He might have grown half a foot since arriving in Camelot and come to look like a gangly thing, but there was no reason to look completely gawkish, even if he was just going to take servant's passages up to Gaius's chambers. It was the quickest way.

It also involved a lot of dark passages and stairs.

Gareth sighed as he picked himself up after tripping up some narrow steps for the third time.  _'Oh, I'm glad no one can see me right now.'_ Arthur was the greatest warrior in the Five Kingdoms, many said, and his squire was supposed to do him credit. Not be an embarrassment.

There was the sound of a shoe scraping against stone. A furtive sound. Probably a servant who didn't want to be caught slacking off. "Sorry to bother you, whoever's there," Gareth said as he turned the corner. "Don't panic on my account." He rubbed his aching temple and glanced up to offer a pained smile to whoever was there.

He saw a figure in shadow, slender and hooded, and somehow familiar. "Who's there?" he said. His voice echoed weirdly through the narrow hallway. The figure looked back, its face shadowed under the hood, though he saw the glint of cold eyes beneath it.

Gareth shivered. "Declare yourself, sir, or I shall call the guard. They're close at hand."

The figure moved. Gareth thought he heard the whisper of a blade being unsheathed as the other started toward him. And him, standing there without a weapon at all. ' _Not very squire-like,'_ he thought.  _'I'll have to remedy that if I see tomorrow.'_  His headache vanished, only to be replaced by the pounding of his heartbeat in his ears.

He drew in a breath to call for the guards, but as quickly as the man- yes, he could tell now that it was a man- was coming toward him, the guard wouldn't do him any good. Maybe they'd capture the man before he continued on to whatever task Gareth had interrupted. He had been at the foot of the stairs leading to Gaius's chambers, and if the dead look in the man's eyes as he closed on Gareth was any indication, he wasn't there for a cure for anything that ailing him.

"Gua-" Gareth managed half a syllable before a door slammed open behind him.

"Gareth!" Gwaine's grin was the second most welcome thing he'd ever seen in his life.

"Gwaine! There's a man-" he glanced back to where the man was, raised an arm to point, to ward off whatever blow might be aimed at him.

But the man was gone. A side door banged shut, the sound echoing down the hallway.

"What is it?" Gwaine asked, "Or are you so hungover you're seeing things?"

"I wasn't seeing things," Gareth said. "There was a man there. He went out that door, but before that, he was on his way toward Gaius's chambers. There was something about him, something… familiar. Like I'd seen him before, but a long time ago."

"Where? Where'd you see him before, Gareth?" Gwaine's smile had disappeared. His hand was on the hilt of his dagger as he stepped toward the door the other man had disappeared through.

"I dunno. Wasn't in Camelot. Would have had to have been in Amata," Gareth said.

"And Amata hasn't meant much good for Camelot for a long time." Gwaine chewed his lip and shifted his weight between his feet, as though unsure of where he was going to go next. Then he nodded, his decision made. "Go on up to Gaius's and see to whatever's ailing you. I'll alert the watch and then join you upstairs. After that, we'll go see Arthur about this man. If there's someone lurking about, he'll want to know. Especially if that someone's lurking about Merlin's doorstep."

"Right." Gareth swallowed hard and nodded. His heart was slowing back to normal. "What do you think he was going to do?"

"Nothing good," Gwaine answered. "Go on, then. Make sure Gaius and Merlin are all right. I'll be up in a moment." Gareth took a deep breath and headed for the stairs. "And Gareth?"

He paused and looked back at the knight. "Yes, sir?"

"From now on, don't go anywhere without a blade at your side," Gwaine said. "There's evil at work in this kingdom. We can't afford to be defenceless in the face of it. Do you understand?" Gareth nodded again. "Good. And thank you, lad. You may have just saved my friend's life."

Gareth smiled, his racing heart and hangover both forgotten. "Glad to help."


End file.
